I've fallen into my old ways . . . ignoring my blog. Sorry about that. Whenever I take a weekend off i.e. physically leave my home and travel to other cities to sleep in cozy hotel rooms, it seems to take a week or two to get back up to speed. I don't know why.
Anyway, I never finished telling you about the great Freddy escape weekend, and since absolutely nothing happened this weekend except this I've got nothing better to talk about anyway.
Last Friday morning I got up early and went shopping at Regent Mall. Pretty much everyone else was going to Fred Cogswell's burial and memorial service. But I never knew Fred, so I made other plans. I went to Wal-Mart and picked up $50 worth of new underwear -- panties, socks, thongs, etc. I cannot stress how much in need of new underwear I was . . . there is stuff hanging out in my drawers that I bought in Toronto, lol. It used to be that I would get tons of that stuff for Christmas and birthdays, so I never had to buy anything hardly. Sadly, now it's all on me and I'm not very good at keeping on top of the situation. Especially when me and Nick are really the only ones who ever see my undies. Nick likes to chew my socks and steal my panties . . . it's an attention seeking thing. Anyway, I went shopping and then met Dorinda in the food court where we had coffee and conversation. Then we headed over to the liquor store and stocked up on wine for the weekend and then we drove around the campus trying to locate buildings we needed to be at later.
I was back in my room by 11:30 a.m. I showered, watched some t.v. and waited for Stacy to show up so I could get some food. I was still starving from the night before. She got in around 1:30 and we went to Keystone Kelly's because we had a coupon for 15% off. Later Claude told us the Keystone's in Fredericton is the absolute worse restaurant in town . . . but we didn't seem to notice, had a good lunch. Then Stacy had to go help a lady with her website and I went shopping at Winners bought some Christmas presents for the kids. Then we went downtown to Claude's apartment. It might be cool to live right downtown on the main drag. We hung out there for a few minutes and then went to Mexicala Rosa's for drinks. I had a couple of glasses of wine and Stacy had a HUGE frozen margarita. We left Claude and headed to the evening's literary events.
The evening started with a screening of the film Alden Nowlan: The Mysterious Naked Man. I really enjoyed the movie. It was funny, sad, real. I loved the footage of Alden himself. I wished I had known him like so many of the Fredericton literary crowd did. Brian Guns the director/ producer was there and spoke a little about the film. I had the opportunity to have breakfast with him the next morning because we stayed in the same hotel. That was pretty cool. To find out even more about the process, where the film is going, what's next and so on. After the film there were readings. Shirley Bear gave a spiritually touching reading in English and Maliseet. Her native language is so powerful, so beautiful. She could have read all evening and not said a word in English and I would have loved it. Her poems were very spiritual, about nature and ancient myths from her culture. She was one of my favourites from the entire weekend. Liliane Welch's poetry is more deliberate somehow. In her reading she enunciated every syllabel, drawing out every vowel, holding the consonants. I honestly couldn't tell you what her poems were about, because the reading was such an art itself. Stacy really disliked her reading, got on her nerves. But I found it very interesting, educational, the way the words sounded. I've never been as consciously aware of the sound of words as I was in that moment. I wanted to leave the auditorium, go home and read aloud everything I've ever written to see what it sounded like. Alan Cumyn read a chapter from his children's novel and made everyone in the audience laugh until they nearly peed their pants. In the chapter his main character, a little boy named Owen, falls in love with a girl in his class at Valentine's Day and a lot of really funny stuff happens as the kids exchange Valentine's in their decorated Kleenex boxes at their desks. The reading was great! Hilarious! And God did it ever take me back! lol He said when he reads that part to kids who are the age of the kids in the story you can hear a pin drop in the classroom . . . they don't think it's very funny, this Valentine and love stuff is pretty serious business for them. John Smith is the poet laureate for PEI. When he read his poetry I felt like I was in the presence of a great Shakespearan actor. He didn't need the microphone, his voice was so powerful and full. I met him at breakfast the next morning also and purchased one of his books which he signed for me. Kathleen Forsythe read last. She is Fred Cogswell's daughter and before he died they were working on a book together, she was interviewing him about the process of writing poetry, getting into his head as he wrote. She read some excerpts from the manuscript which will be published soon. It sounds like a fascinating book, something I'll definitely want to read. However, she kind of highjacked the evening . . . reading on and on for a very long time. It was kind of sad really, to see her working out her grief so publically like that. Some people were really pissed at her for doing that, but I didn't mind really. Most of what she talked about was interesting and she just buried her father that morning so I figured she deserved a little leeway.
After the readings, Stacy and I went to Dairy Queen for snacks and then back to our room to watch a dvd and pig out. We watched this really funny movie I had never really heard tell of before with Billy Bob Thornton, Patrick Swayze and Charlize Theron. It was really funny and I have no idea what it was called. Got to sleep quite late and then I had to get up pretty early Saturday morning because I was registered for the workshop with Alan Cumyn at 10 a.m. The workshop was at the Ice House (appropriately named because it was absolutely freezing). It's kind of funny actually. I've always heard about the Ice House and all the great work that has been created there and come to find out it's this tiny little one-room stone building like a shed (I had to duck to go in the door)with a big old desk that must certainly be a lot older than I am and is in no danger of being stolen because they must have built the building around it. There were about 10 of us in the group. It was kind of weird as workshops go . . . because we didn't actually write much. But it was a great workshop, a life-changing workshop for me actually. I would say Alan Cumyn has completely changed the course of my writing. He gave us a topic and we did a timed writing of 10 minutes. We didn't share what we'd written, it didn't matter much. I'm not sure even what his point of getting us to write was all about, but later on when he spoke about staying connected to your writing and how a half-hour to an hour of writing every day is the key to producing a novel or collection of short stories, I looked and saw how much I had written in that 10 minutes and suddenly it all clicked for me. I think it was just his really calm matter of fact manner, but in that moment I realised I am disconnected from my novel and all I need is to get tuned back in, spend a half-hour or an hour with it every day and the book will get done. I realised that when I'm connected the story is always working in the background and if I'm touching base with it for a few minutes every day, then it's always being written in my head. This was quite the realisation. Of course, I've been home a week and haven't acted on it, lol. But I'm going to. I can feel it.
For lunch we went to the James Joyce pub in the Lord Beaverbrook Hotel. (A bit pricey but okay if you like Irish stew and fish chowder, that sort of stuff). My friend Elizabeth read one of her short stories. It was one I had never read or heard before. She seemed a little nervous but totally pulled it off and did a great job. Eventually we all have to go there . . . the public reading in order to get your name out there . . . I love public speaking but something about reading my fiction knocks the wind out of me. It's really kind of weird. Elizabeth jokes that she is the exhibitionist in our group. She done good! And I liked the story a lot. Marilyn Lerch from Sackville read some of her poems and I had the opportunity to buy her book later and have her sign it. She's one of my favourites and has been for awhile. She's one of those feisty old broads, feminist, originally from Chicago. She doesn't pull any punches and I like that. She's funny as old hell too. She's got this great poem called The Great Toronto Garbage Strike of 2002 about the garbage strike when the Pope visited. It's fantastic! And when she reads it -- LOL! I loved it! When she mutters in that tough broad gravelly voice of hers, "Give 'em a raise for chrissake!" I fall to pieces. Kelly Cooper read fiction and really sucked me into her story. I can't remember whether she has a book or not, but if she does it will be one I'll pick up if I see it. Greg Cook read some of his poetry and I was excited to meet the man who wrote Alden Nowlan One Heart, One Way. Though I didn't get the chance to introduce myself. A surprising thing happened when Allan Cooper read. He's a poet from Alma and I have one of his books already. I don't know if it was the exhaustion, the starvation, the wine, being overwhelmed by being in a room filled with so many published authors and poets, or what was going on . . . but as he read a poem about the tides in Fundy I felt a lump form in my throat and my vision clouded. I looked away, I tried to think about other things, but it was no good. I sat there and cried.
That's the funny thing about these readings. Different people are moved by different things. I looked over at one point during Marilyn Lerch's reading and Dorinda was crying, wiping her eyes, sniffling. Stacy was moved to tears during Shirley Bear's reading the evening before. It's an interesting phenomena.
After lunch I ended up going to the panel discussion on Travis Lane's poetry. It was actually quite interesting because I didn't know much about her poetry before coming to the festival. Jeanette Lynes, Robert Gibbs, Lynn Davies, and Hannah Lane each gave speeches about her work and then the floor was opened to questions. I learned a lot and it was actually quite entertaining. Next year I won't be so quick to strike the panel discussions from my agenda. After that a bunch of us went for supper at a Greek restaurant where I had the absolute worse glass of red wine -- it must have been a pinot noir, because I'm not very fond of those. I need to remember to request the merlot, even though it usually costs more, it's well worth an extra dollar or so when faced with a crappy glass of wine.
After supper Stacy and I went shopping a bit at Wal-Mart and I bought a bunch of dvds. Just got back and it was time to go to the readings. Travis Lane, Jeanette Lynes, Geoffrey Cook, Jean Dohaney, and Robert Moore were on the schedule. Jeanette had been partying with Judy and Dorinda so she prefaced her reading by saying she had been adopted by the women of Miramichi and thanking the WFNB for inviting her because she was having such a great time. She was a lot of fun to hang out with. Travis Lane is such a gracious woman. She reminds me of my Grandmother on my father's side . . . like Grammie Underhill only with balls! LOL Not literally. I mean if Grammie Underhill were to say whatever was on her mind, let loose, not hold back at all for the sake of being polite or proper. Yeah, this was Travis Lane. I loved her! There are some people you meet and they're just instantly likeable, she's one of those. Geoffrey Cook is Greg Cook's son. Greg actually emceed the evening and was very proud to be introducing his son. Geoffrey just launched his first book of poetry the night before and he was so nervous to be at the Alden Nowlan festival reading with friends in the audience who drove all the way from Montreal just to hear him. He stumbled a couple of times and had to start over but I kind of liked that, liked that he was visibly trembling as he held the book, popping his p's in the microphone and fumbling over his words. It made him more human, more like me. I could relate. And his poems weren't bad either.
After the readings we went back to the hotel to get Stacy because we were supposed to be going out with Claude to the Taproom. But when we got there Stacy was sick in bed, so we just had a glass of wine and took a cab to the university bar in Alden Nowlan's house on campus where everyone from the reading was going to hang out. What a surreally awesome time! To be sitting in the living room at Windsor Castle surrounded by all these really great writers talking about books and writing and university politics and art and workshops and grants -- I loved it! I've read so much about Alden Nowlan, so much about his parties at Windsor Castle, and I know it's tacky beyond words that the grad students have turned his living room into a bar . . . but still, it's kind of like I've had the Alden Nowlan experience I've always read about. Weird.
Throughout the weekend and at Windsor Castle, I got to talk a lot to my friend that I met at the AGM in April, Joe Blades from Broken Jaw Press. He's one of my favourite people, always doing something interesting, and he's very peaceful, has kind of a Zen-like demeanour that rubs off and makes you feel all peaceful too. Plus, he's got this really dry wit that I appreciate. I could listen to him talk for hours -- Hey, I think I have listened to him talk for hours, lol. He has a new book out and I bought it, got him to sign it. His poetry is really interesting, there are a lot of layers to peel away. I like that. The Canadian Embassy has invited him to big Book Fair overseas -- Helsinki? No, Prague? I forget where exactly. Anyway, he's a keynote speaker or something, so that's a pretty big deal. He seemed really excited about it and I'm hoping he'll pop off a note to me about it so I can include it in the next WFNB newsletter.
I was severely hung over on the Sunday but that didn't stop Stacy and I from having a full day in Fredericton. We checked out and headed downtown to Cora's for breakfast. There was some sort of a marathon or something going on and the streets were blocked off so we had to park way to hell and back and walk, then the line-up was practically out on the street. By the time we got food I was near dead, but the food was worth it. YUMMY!!! We both got the waffles with carmel apples and English cream. Wow! It was scrum. No doubt about it, Cora's is the place to go for breakfast. After breakfast we hit the mall and hit it hard. I spent it all! Mostly Christmas shopping though, so that was good. Good to get it out of the way, rather than wait until the week before like I always do. Maybe now that the kids presents aren't going to suck my pay cheque dry in December, I'll even be able to buy some other people something, like Mom and Dad. They'd be thrilled! All in all, I didn't too badly in the spending department for the weekend. Didn't get too many books or dvds. That's always a concern, that I'll spend hundreds of dollars on books and lately dvds.
This weekend I was supposed to go to a staff party at the Pond's Resort in Ludlow but I threw out my back late last week and had to pass. So, now I start saving for my next excursion -- Magie Dominic's reading, workshop and installation of the Gown of Stillness in Moncton in December. I think Jen and Jason are going to go to that with me. It'll be nice to see Ed and Elaine from the Attic Owl again, they're the organisers behind that event. Great for last minute Christmas shopping too.
Well, that's it, now you're up to date.
Mood: having a big old fat day
Drinking: Nothing, drier than a wooden god
Listening To: Andrea Bocelli, La Paterno Mano
Hair: tied up and stringy
Sunday, October 03, 2004
Monday, September 27, 2004
Like A Virgin
I'm back! And what a fantastic weekend I had in Fredericton! The bus ride over was pretty good Thursday afternoon. The driver was a non-smoker, no-nonsense, all business type of dude so he drove a pretty good clip and didn't prolong the few stops along the way. We ended up getting into Freddy about 10 minutes early, but of course traffic was a nightmare going over the bridge so we arrived a few minutes late.
I cabbed up the hill to the Amsterdam Inn where all the writers were supposed to be staying, checked in and raced up to my room to get ready for the opening ceremony. I didn't have much time. I was excited to wear my new black strappy sandals that I've had since Spring but have never had the opportunity to wear. 3 1/2 inch heels! They're nice shoes, the kind where the strap double wraps around your ankle. I put them on and wobbled around my room a little debating whether I should wear them or go with the more sensibly heeled silver grey sandals with the 3/4 inch heels. Thinking the event would be mostly a sit-down show I went tall. Oops! Oh well, I'll know better for next year.
About 6:45 I called a taxi to take me to Old Government House. In the lobby I met up with Shirley Bear, a poet I was looking forward to hearing read later in the weekend, and her sister. Since we were all headed the same place we shared the cab. The building was beautiful of course! Ancient stone covered with Ivy and clinging vines, some stained glass windows, cathedral ceilings, antique furnishings, lavish rugs, lots of portraits, paintings, statues, big vases, huge chandeliers, real china and silverware, velvet cushions, framed photos of visiting dignitaries like Prince Charles -- everything that one would expect to find in the home of the Lieutenant Governor and more. There was plenty of wine, red and white, fruit punch, vegetable trays with dips, fresh fruit, cheese, crackers, and cream cheese, smoked salmon, and other tiny sandwich rolls. It was not exactly the sort of feast a starving woman required, but it did in a pinch.
Joe Ward from Eel Ground got the ceremony underway with his drumming. I was feeling too faint to stand in the circle and hold hands so I went out into the hall and sat down while they did that part. A group called The Raging Grannies performed. They were wonderfully funny and entertaining, dressed up in flouncy hats and shawls, keeping time with a wooden spoon and kazoo. They are political activists and write what I can only think to call protest songs. I had never seen or heard tell of them before but apparently they've been making quite a name for themselves with appearances on shows like Breakfast Television. They were there to tribute M. Travis Lane. Every year the festival honours a poet and this year it was her turn. I think Travis is a Raging Grannie. They shared a story about visiting a dying friend in hospital and singing them off. I liked that. Travis was celebrating her 70th birthday and what a happy energectic woman she seemed. She obviously comes from good blood because her 90-year-old mother was quite happy to have the house to herself for evening while Travis attended. She and the Grannies believe life should be celebrated until the very end with singing and poetry. There will be time enough for grieving after the dead have departed. I would be lying if I said I wasn't fascinated by this woman, who seemed to effortlessly bring every conversation round to her pets. Jeannette Lynes and Liliane Welch also gave lovely tribute speeches to Travis and shared some of her poetry.
A personal highlight of the evening for me was meeting up again with Ed and Elaine Lemond from the Attic Owl bookstore in Moncton. They are lovely people, so down to earth and friendly. Elaine kept getting me confused with Kelly Cooper who was going to read later in the weekend and wishing me luck -- very supportive :-) Just running into them makes me excited to move to Sackville where I'll be closer to these people and get to spend more time with them. Fredericton is a nice city . . . but I find it a little cold. Many Miramichiers live there but they seem to be the ones who think themselves a little bit too good to live on the river, not the proud Miramichiers. It's like they haven't grown past that stage so many of us go through right after high school where we want to be from anywhere but here. Funny, how most of those people go to Fredericton and never come back. But the people who go elsewhere come to realise what they've left behind and either move back or long to with every visit. Everyone in Fredericton seems a little too full of themselves. I don't know, it's kind of an odd thought I suppose and like anything else there are exceptions. I also know some very down to earth great former Miramichiers living in Fredericton. But Moncton does not have that feeling at all. People will talk to you in Moncton and not down their noses until they judge whether you're worthy. There's a different feeling about Moncton.
Anyway, after the tributes and more mingling, we headed back to the hotel and convened to have a glass of wine. Dorinda, Noeline, Elizabeth, Judy and I sat around talking for a little while. I learned that the Miramichi Writers' Guild is thinking about publishing another little chapbook. While I'm sitting there thinking what I would want to contribute if anything, they sprung it upon me that they wanted me to do the editing, layout, design, etc. I was surprised but thought it would be cool. They would even pay me a little, even cooler! About midnight everyone went to their own rooms. I went to the lobby and grabbed snacks from the vending machine and a movie. It was the sequel to The Talented Mr. Ripley with John Malkovich as Tom Ripley. It might have been good, but I was too looped to stay awake.
And that was the first event. I'll write more later and tell you the rest of the story. It gets better, I promise ;-)
Mood: Pleasantly exhausted
Drinking: tea
Listening To: Keep the Faith, Bon Jovi (This Left Feels Right)
Hair: newly dyed!
I cabbed up the hill to the Amsterdam Inn where all the writers were supposed to be staying, checked in and raced up to my room to get ready for the opening ceremony. I didn't have much time. I was excited to wear my new black strappy sandals that I've had since Spring but have never had the opportunity to wear. 3 1/2 inch heels! They're nice shoes, the kind where the strap double wraps around your ankle. I put them on and wobbled around my room a little debating whether I should wear them or go with the more sensibly heeled silver grey sandals with the 3/4 inch heels. Thinking the event would be mostly a sit-down show I went tall. Oops! Oh well, I'll know better for next year.
About 6:45 I called a taxi to take me to Old Government House. In the lobby I met up with Shirley Bear, a poet I was looking forward to hearing read later in the weekend, and her sister. Since we were all headed the same place we shared the cab. The building was beautiful of course! Ancient stone covered with Ivy and clinging vines, some stained glass windows, cathedral ceilings, antique furnishings, lavish rugs, lots of portraits, paintings, statues, big vases, huge chandeliers, real china and silverware, velvet cushions, framed photos of visiting dignitaries like Prince Charles -- everything that one would expect to find in the home of the Lieutenant Governor and more. There was plenty of wine, red and white, fruit punch, vegetable trays with dips, fresh fruit, cheese, crackers, and cream cheese, smoked salmon, and other tiny sandwich rolls. It was not exactly the sort of feast a starving woman required, but it did in a pinch.
Joe Ward from Eel Ground got the ceremony underway with his drumming. I was feeling too faint to stand in the circle and hold hands so I went out into the hall and sat down while they did that part. A group called The Raging Grannies performed. They were wonderfully funny and entertaining, dressed up in flouncy hats and shawls, keeping time with a wooden spoon and kazoo. They are political activists and write what I can only think to call protest songs. I had never seen or heard tell of them before but apparently they've been making quite a name for themselves with appearances on shows like Breakfast Television. They were there to tribute M. Travis Lane. Every year the festival honours a poet and this year it was her turn. I think Travis is a Raging Grannie. They shared a story about visiting a dying friend in hospital and singing them off. I liked that. Travis was celebrating her 70th birthday and what a happy energectic woman she seemed. She obviously comes from good blood because her 90-year-old mother was quite happy to have the house to herself for evening while Travis attended. She and the Grannies believe life should be celebrated until the very end with singing and poetry. There will be time enough for grieving after the dead have departed. I would be lying if I said I wasn't fascinated by this woman, who seemed to effortlessly bring every conversation round to her pets. Jeannette Lynes and Liliane Welch also gave lovely tribute speeches to Travis and shared some of her poetry.
A personal highlight of the evening for me was meeting up again with Ed and Elaine Lemond from the Attic Owl bookstore in Moncton. They are lovely people, so down to earth and friendly. Elaine kept getting me confused with Kelly Cooper who was going to read later in the weekend and wishing me luck -- very supportive :-) Just running into them makes me excited to move to Sackville where I'll be closer to these people and get to spend more time with them. Fredericton is a nice city . . . but I find it a little cold. Many Miramichiers live there but they seem to be the ones who think themselves a little bit too good to live on the river, not the proud Miramichiers. It's like they haven't grown past that stage so many of us go through right after high school where we want to be from anywhere but here. Funny, how most of those people go to Fredericton and never come back. But the people who go elsewhere come to realise what they've left behind and either move back or long to with every visit. Everyone in Fredericton seems a little too full of themselves. I don't know, it's kind of an odd thought I suppose and like anything else there are exceptions. I also know some very down to earth great former Miramichiers living in Fredericton. But Moncton does not have that feeling at all. People will talk to you in Moncton and not down their noses until they judge whether you're worthy. There's a different feeling about Moncton.
Anyway, after the tributes and more mingling, we headed back to the hotel and convened to have a glass of wine. Dorinda, Noeline, Elizabeth, Judy and I sat around talking for a little while. I learned that the Miramichi Writers' Guild is thinking about publishing another little chapbook. While I'm sitting there thinking what I would want to contribute if anything, they sprung it upon me that they wanted me to do the editing, layout, design, etc. I was surprised but thought it would be cool. They would even pay me a little, even cooler! About midnight everyone went to their own rooms. I went to the lobby and grabbed snacks from the vending machine and a movie. It was the sequel to The Talented Mr. Ripley with John Malkovich as Tom Ripley. It might have been good, but I was too looped to stay awake.
And that was the first event. I'll write more later and tell you the rest of the story. It gets better, I promise ;-)
Mood: Pleasantly exhausted
Drinking: tea
Listening To: Keep the Faith, Bon Jovi (This Left Feels Right)
Hair: newly dyed!
Thursday, September 23, 2004
On the road again, just can't wait to get on the road again . . .
Off to Fredericton again tomorrow and I'm really excited about it. Tomorrow night is the opening ceremony for the Alden Nowlan Literary Festival -- EVERYBODY is going to be there. I get to get dressed up. There's going to be lots of great food and wine and talented artists reading great poetry. It's my first one and I'm stoked. There's not much going on Friday until the evening so I think I'm going to go do a little shopping at the Regent Mall which is pretty close to my hotel. I need new running shoes for one thing and also could use some black printer ink. Ink is a hard thing to get in Miramichi, it's pretty scarce. But now that I'm doing the WFNB newsletter I need ink to print it out and send for photocopies.
All day I've been jotting little notes to myself, so I don't forget anything. Last week I forgot my anti-perspirant and had to get the front desk to bring me one. So, I've got all these little sticky notes around now and hopefully I'll remember everything tomorrow.
I took a few minutes today and added my reading list to the blog. It's over there to the side below my profile and stuff. If you don't have a very big screen you'll probably have to scroll to see it. At any given time I'm reading no less than two books, usually a mix of novels, short story collections, poetry, drama, memoir and biography. I don't usually get into two novels at the same time, although right now I'm finishing one off while I've already started the next. I read everyday, even if it's only for 10 or 15 minutes. It's the last thing I do before I go to sleep. I have trouble getting to sleep usually, so reading really helps. Anyway, I thought you might like to keep up with my reading habits and also that it would be cool to keep track of all the books. I'll try to write little opinions about them to keep it interesting for you :-)
Anyway, I'm off with a ton of stuff to do still before I can go to bed. I will blog in my notebook while I'm away and post it here when I return. Later!
Mood: Buoyant
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: the hum of my computer
Hair: CLEAN!! Finally.
All day I've been jotting little notes to myself, so I don't forget anything. Last week I forgot my anti-perspirant and had to get the front desk to bring me one. So, I've got all these little sticky notes around now and hopefully I'll remember everything tomorrow.
I took a few minutes today and added my reading list to the blog. It's over there to the side below my profile and stuff. If you don't have a very big screen you'll probably have to scroll to see it. At any given time I'm reading no less than two books, usually a mix of novels, short story collections, poetry, drama, memoir and biography. I don't usually get into two novels at the same time, although right now I'm finishing one off while I've already started the next. I read everyday, even if it's only for 10 or 15 minutes. It's the last thing I do before I go to sleep. I have trouble getting to sleep usually, so reading really helps. Anyway, I thought you might like to keep up with my reading habits and also that it would be cool to keep track of all the books. I'll try to write little opinions about them to keep it interesting for you :-)
Anyway, I'm off with a ton of stuff to do still before I can go to bed. I will blog in my notebook while I'm away and post it here when I return. Later!
Mood: Buoyant
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: the hum of my computer
Hair: CLEAN!! Finally.
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Bugs, Bugs, Bugs
I'm going freaking nuts!! I have to get out of this house and escape to my nice hotel room in Freddy Beach! The house is infested with bugs. And not the cute little bugs you saw in A Bug's Life, NOOOO, I'm talking big mother fucking spiders! HUGE!!! And they're everywhere. My skin is crawling just thinking about it.
The horror started about a week ago when we got our firewood in the basement. First it was just ants. Now, ants are kind of creepy but really they don't bother me that much . . . I wouldn't have a stroke if one got on me or anything. But now it is the spiders! And I just can't deal with that crap. . . well maybe if they were puny little things, but these are long legged beasts, quick as a bunny and scary as old hell.
I go to put something in the garbage can and one runs out from underneath it. Dad is sitting in the kitchen (blind as a bat I might add) and sees one running across the floor in the living room! I'm sitting on the lazy boy chair watching tv and one runs across the wall right by my arm. They're in the landing, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the hall . . . they're EVERYWHERE! Why God? WHY?!
So, we're killing them off one by one and hoping to get the house back sometime before the snow flies. I k know I'm not supposed to kill anything with eyes, but a person can't be expected to live in a nest of spiders, one or two is fine, but not the whole extended family. I shudder to think about how many of these buggers are being murdered in the basement every night when Dad is playing darts.
Maybe it's this invasion that has me so freaked out I scared myself last night when I was trying to fall asleep and had to turn on the light. I was lying in bed, trying to drift off into happy dreamland, when all of a sudden I started thinking about this movie I had seen. I don't know what it's called, but maybe you've seen it. It's a horror film based on a true story about a woman in the U.S. who keeps getting attacked and raped/ beat around by a demon spirit.
I saw it a long time ago, and have no idea what made me think about it. So, I'm lying there in the dark trying not to think about this movie that is supposedly based on true events because what if I somehow summon the thing here if I think about it too much. So, I'm trying to think about other more pleasant things and then I see the girl from The Ring climbing out of the well . . . Did you see The Ring? Man! Now, that's a scary movie! That's when I had to turn on the light and read a little bit longer to clear my head of terrible thoughts.
Good Lord! Why am I telling you all this and thinking about that crap again tonight?! I need to go play a video game or read a funny story or something before I turn out the light.
Mood: Creeped Out!
Drinking: Diet Pepsi
Listening To: Nothing :-( I don't have enough RAM to blog, listen to music, get email and download tunes
Hair: . . . Ummm, I'd rather not say
The horror started about a week ago when we got our firewood in the basement. First it was just ants. Now, ants are kind of creepy but really they don't bother me that much . . . I wouldn't have a stroke if one got on me or anything. But now it is the spiders! And I just can't deal with that crap. . . well maybe if they were puny little things, but these are long legged beasts, quick as a bunny and scary as old hell.
I go to put something in the garbage can and one runs out from underneath it. Dad is sitting in the kitchen (blind as a bat I might add) and sees one running across the floor in the living room! I'm sitting on the lazy boy chair watching tv and one runs across the wall right by my arm. They're in the landing, the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom, the hall . . . they're EVERYWHERE! Why God? WHY?!
So, we're killing them off one by one and hoping to get the house back sometime before the snow flies. I k know I'm not supposed to kill anything with eyes, but a person can't be expected to live in a nest of spiders, one or two is fine, but not the whole extended family. I shudder to think about how many of these buggers are being murdered in the basement every night when Dad is playing darts.
Maybe it's this invasion that has me so freaked out I scared myself last night when I was trying to fall asleep and had to turn on the light. I was lying in bed, trying to drift off into happy dreamland, when all of a sudden I started thinking about this movie I had seen. I don't know what it's called, but maybe you've seen it. It's a horror film based on a true story about a woman in the U.S. who keeps getting attacked and raped/ beat around by a demon spirit.
I saw it a long time ago, and have no idea what made me think about it. So, I'm lying there in the dark trying not to think about this movie that is supposedly based on true events because what if I somehow summon the thing here if I think about it too much. So, I'm trying to think about other more pleasant things and then I see the girl from The Ring climbing out of the well . . . Did you see The Ring? Man! Now, that's a scary movie! That's when I had to turn on the light and read a little bit longer to clear my head of terrible thoughts.
Good Lord! Why am I telling you all this and thinking about that crap again tonight?! I need to go play a video game or read a funny story or something before I turn out the light.
Mood: Creeped Out!
Drinking: Diet Pepsi
Listening To: Nothing :-( I don't have enough RAM to blog, listen to music, get email and download tunes
Hair: . . . Ummm, I'd rather not say
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Freddy Play by Play
My overnight excursion to Fredericton was fabulous and now I'm really looking forward to going back this week. The bus got in on time but Mary was not waiting to pick me up. I found out later that she went to pick me up on Wednesday, but even if I had arrived on Wednesday she would have missed me because she went an hour too late, lol. So, I grabbed a cab and headed off to the hotel on my own. Since it was rush hour traffic was hell and it took about 25 minutes to get up over the hill. I was freaked out, thought for sure the cab would cost 20 bucks. But I soon discovered that cabs are super cheap in Fredericton. It only cost $5 for that ride.
The lobby of the hotel was really nice with a fireplace and sofas and an area with tables set up so you could sit and have coffee (24 hr complimentary coffee service -- two thumbs up for that!) or enjoy the continental breakfast in the morning.
I forgot to bring Mom's credit card I used to reserve the room so I had to leave a $100 security deposit at the front desk just in case I trashed the room or took off with the TV or something. That left me a little concerned about whether I had brought enough cash or not. They put me in a room on the ground floor with an exit to the outside (motel style) as well as an inside entrance/exit.
I wasn't really comfortable there . . . you know, girl traveling alone, ground floor . . . I don't know, I didn't like it much. So, when my door wouldn't catch to close I seized the opportunity to get a different room upstairs and requested an upstairs room for this week also.
By the time I got settled there wasn't any time left to eat or anything so I just changed my clothes, freshened up and grabbed a cab to the university. My driver had no idea where the building I wanted was located so that was a bit of a challenge and took a little longer than I expected but still I arrived in one piece (only $4!).
I found Mary freaking out in the auditorium. Apparently, anything that could go wrong, had gone wrong. But things were basically under control by the time I arrived. I got to sit in the front row reserved seating and all I had to do was run around like mad and find a table, carry it downstairs, and endure the snotty ladies from the CBC who were quite put-out that we hadn't arranged water for them. HELLO! You're journalists (debatable), not celebrities! If I did voice work all the time I think I'd have water with me. Anyway, they rubbed me the wrong way with all their juvenile eye rolling and snickering.
Ann-Marie's people sent the standard famous person list of demands which Mary was going a bit nuts trying to fulfill. But Ann-Marie herself was very personable and not at all diva-esque.
Beth Powning read first from her novel The Hatbox Letters. I was blown away by the beauty of the sound of the book. WOW! The story really hadn't interested me much when I read the synopsis, but after hearing Beth's reading I knew I had to buy this book.
Ann-Marie went second. Of course, I had already read The Way the Crow Flies and had all the books in a bag under my seat to get signed after. Ann-Marie started as an actress and this was obvious from her reading. DOUBLE WOW!! This was the best reading I've ever been to, not that I've been to many, but still. It was as if she were acting out all the characters. She had all the voices down, from the little girl to the father, the psychiatrist to Bugs Bunny. I was particularly impressed with her use of silence. At one point she stared off into the distance as if the character were pondering and she held that silence for a good 20-25 seconds. That's tough to do. It's tough to take your time when you're reading or doing any sort of public speaking and just let the silence speak for itself.
After the readings the floor opened for questions. This was an insightful part of the evening for me. The audience was mostly university students from the drama or English departments, so they had lots of great questions. The girl from the CBC did not! You could totally tell that she hadn't read any of their books or maybe ANY book in a really long time. She asked them where they got their inspiration for Christ's sake. That's like asking the parents of the murdered child how they feel or leading with "It's every parents worst nightmare." How does the woman keep her job? To top things off she sat in the chair designated for Beth Powning and spoke at length with her own response to one of the questions the students asked the authors. What's up with that?
But enough hating on the CBC chick and her publicist or agent or whoever that was with her.
One thing I found particularly interesting was the authors discussion of writers block. Ann-Marie said she saw it more as a void than a block, which I totally agreed with. The standard response about writers block is usually to get away from it, take a break, go back at it later. But she wanted to stress something else as well -- first, you must suffer. That really struck me. She stressed that you had to suffer through the agony of the void in order to get through it and not to be so quick to take a break. Only after you've suffered and still you have the void, then you should take a break and get some distance. I thought that was pretty interesting. I think I'm often too quick to give up.
Another thing that came out of the Q & A was a comment from one of the students. The reading Ann-Marie gave was identical to one she gave there earlier this year or last fall and this student had attended that reading as well. She said she hadn't read the book before the first reading and found herself laughing as many in the audience had laughed at this reading. But since the first reading she read the book and this time she found the reading more somber and sad now that she knew the context. I had the opposite happen to me. I read the book before the reading . . . but I missed a lot of the humour in my reading, I was overwhelmed by the sadness and seriousness of the story. But I laughed when she read and I knew the context. I thought that was an interesting contrast, that I found the humour in her oral reading and the university student found the sorrow.
After the reading I bought Beth's book and got all my books signed. I told Ann-Marie that I worked a Sunday matinee at the Annex theatre back in 1988 and had been a fan of her work ever since. She was thrilled and flattered and very gracious. She's much smaller in real life than what I expected. On Life & Times she looks taller, more substantial. She's really a wisp of a woman.
After the readings Mary drove me back to the hotel. She thanked me for coming and helping her out and for all the press releases I've written. She said she's been getting lots of compliments about the press releases since I started writing them, which was nice to hear. It was about 10:30 when I went into the lobby. I got a cup of coffee to take up to my room and signed out a dvd to watch in case I couldn't find anything on television -- Calendar Girls (not as good as I had hoped).
I got back in my room just in time to catch the tail end of Canadian Idol and ordered pizza from Pizza Delight which came around 11 . . . pretty late to be eating supper, but I was starved! I tossed and turned all night and then got up at 8 and went down for breakfast.
The breakfast actually really impressed me. There was a lot more variety than what I thought there would be -- various kinds of muffins, bagels and pastries, homemade bread for toast, English muffins, four different kinds of cold cereal, one hot cereal, coffee, various kinds of tea, orange juice, apple juice, milk -- there was lots to pick from and a good crowd chowing down. I had a bagel with cream cheese and coffee and then went back up to my room to shower and get ready to go home.
I checked out an hour before the bus was scheduled to leave. I thought that would be plenty of time because it was mid-morning so the cab ride shouldn't have taken that long. My driver decided to take the scenic route or something and the cab ride went on forever!! But I wasn't worried because I had given myself lots of time . . . or so I thought. I was horrified to finally reach the station and realise that every kid in the university was lined up for bus tickets home for the weekend. The line-up was all the way out on the sidewalk!! I don't know why I didn't buy a return ticket to begin with . . . I just got in line and hoped for the best, started strategizing what I would do if i missed the bus, did I have enough cash to get a room and try again on Saturday and so on. Luckily, the line up moved pretty quickly and I got out of there in lots of time to catch my bus.
The ride home was uneventful and I got picked up by Jen and the kids without a hitch. Sherry couldn't pick me up because Paulina was sick . . . wouldn't you know it, now I'm feeling sick too. Sore throat, pain around my eyes, achy body, BLECH! Just in time for my big trip to Freddy this week, when everyone will be there, when all the events are happening. Hopefully I'll recover in time.
So, I had a great time and the reading was everything I expected and more.
Mood: sluggish
Drinking: Cabernet Sauvignon (California)
Listening To: Virgin Radio Classic Rock live from the UK (Paul McCartney & Wings)
Hair: Dirty, with a capital D
The lobby of the hotel was really nice with a fireplace and sofas and an area with tables set up so you could sit and have coffee (24 hr complimentary coffee service -- two thumbs up for that!) or enjoy the continental breakfast in the morning.
I forgot to bring Mom's credit card I used to reserve the room so I had to leave a $100 security deposit at the front desk just in case I trashed the room or took off with the TV or something. That left me a little concerned about whether I had brought enough cash or not. They put me in a room on the ground floor with an exit to the outside (motel style) as well as an inside entrance/exit.
I wasn't really comfortable there . . . you know, girl traveling alone, ground floor . . . I don't know, I didn't like it much. So, when my door wouldn't catch to close I seized the opportunity to get a different room upstairs and requested an upstairs room for this week also.
By the time I got settled there wasn't any time left to eat or anything so I just changed my clothes, freshened up and grabbed a cab to the university. My driver had no idea where the building I wanted was located so that was a bit of a challenge and took a little longer than I expected but still I arrived in one piece (only $4!).
I found Mary freaking out in the auditorium. Apparently, anything that could go wrong, had gone wrong. But things were basically under control by the time I arrived. I got to sit in the front row reserved seating and all I had to do was run around like mad and find a table, carry it downstairs, and endure the snotty ladies from the CBC who were quite put-out that we hadn't arranged water for them. HELLO! You're journalists (debatable), not celebrities! If I did voice work all the time I think I'd have water with me. Anyway, they rubbed me the wrong way with all their juvenile eye rolling and snickering.
Ann-Marie's people sent the standard famous person list of demands which Mary was going a bit nuts trying to fulfill. But Ann-Marie herself was very personable and not at all diva-esque.
Beth Powning read first from her novel The Hatbox Letters. I was blown away by the beauty of the sound of the book. WOW! The story really hadn't interested me much when I read the synopsis, but after hearing Beth's reading I knew I had to buy this book.
Ann-Marie went second. Of course, I had already read The Way the Crow Flies and had all the books in a bag under my seat to get signed after. Ann-Marie started as an actress and this was obvious from her reading. DOUBLE WOW!! This was the best reading I've ever been to, not that I've been to many, but still. It was as if she were acting out all the characters. She had all the voices down, from the little girl to the father, the psychiatrist to Bugs Bunny. I was particularly impressed with her use of silence. At one point she stared off into the distance as if the character were pondering and she held that silence for a good 20-25 seconds. That's tough to do. It's tough to take your time when you're reading or doing any sort of public speaking and just let the silence speak for itself.
After the readings the floor opened for questions. This was an insightful part of the evening for me. The audience was mostly university students from the drama or English departments, so they had lots of great questions. The girl from the CBC did not! You could totally tell that she hadn't read any of their books or maybe ANY book in a really long time. She asked them where they got their inspiration for Christ's sake. That's like asking the parents of the murdered child how they feel or leading with "It's every parents worst nightmare." How does the woman keep her job? To top things off she sat in the chair designated for Beth Powning and spoke at length with her own response to one of the questions the students asked the authors. What's up with that?
But enough hating on the CBC chick and her publicist or agent or whoever that was with her.
One thing I found particularly interesting was the authors discussion of writers block. Ann-Marie said she saw it more as a void than a block, which I totally agreed with. The standard response about writers block is usually to get away from it, take a break, go back at it later. But she wanted to stress something else as well -- first, you must suffer. That really struck me. She stressed that you had to suffer through the agony of the void in order to get through it and not to be so quick to take a break. Only after you've suffered and still you have the void, then you should take a break and get some distance. I thought that was pretty interesting. I think I'm often too quick to give up.
Another thing that came out of the Q & A was a comment from one of the students. The reading Ann-Marie gave was identical to one she gave there earlier this year or last fall and this student had attended that reading as well. She said she hadn't read the book before the first reading and found herself laughing as many in the audience had laughed at this reading. But since the first reading she read the book and this time she found the reading more somber and sad now that she knew the context. I had the opposite happen to me. I read the book before the reading . . . but I missed a lot of the humour in my reading, I was overwhelmed by the sadness and seriousness of the story. But I laughed when she read and I knew the context. I thought that was an interesting contrast, that I found the humour in her oral reading and the university student found the sorrow.
After the reading I bought Beth's book and got all my books signed. I told Ann-Marie that I worked a Sunday matinee at the Annex theatre back in 1988 and had been a fan of her work ever since. She was thrilled and flattered and very gracious. She's much smaller in real life than what I expected. On Life & Times she looks taller, more substantial. She's really a wisp of a woman.
After the readings Mary drove me back to the hotel. She thanked me for coming and helping her out and for all the press releases I've written. She said she's been getting lots of compliments about the press releases since I started writing them, which was nice to hear. It was about 10:30 when I went into the lobby. I got a cup of coffee to take up to my room and signed out a dvd to watch in case I couldn't find anything on television -- Calendar Girls (not as good as I had hoped).
I got back in my room just in time to catch the tail end of Canadian Idol and ordered pizza from Pizza Delight which came around 11 . . . pretty late to be eating supper, but I was starved! I tossed and turned all night and then got up at 8 and went down for breakfast.
The breakfast actually really impressed me. There was a lot more variety than what I thought there would be -- various kinds of muffins, bagels and pastries, homemade bread for toast, English muffins, four different kinds of cold cereal, one hot cereal, coffee, various kinds of tea, orange juice, apple juice, milk -- there was lots to pick from and a good crowd chowing down. I had a bagel with cream cheese and coffee and then went back up to my room to shower and get ready to go home.
I checked out an hour before the bus was scheduled to leave. I thought that would be plenty of time because it was mid-morning so the cab ride shouldn't have taken that long. My driver decided to take the scenic route or something and the cab ride went on forever!! But I wasn't worried because I had given myself lots of time . . . or so I thought. I was horrified to finally reach the station and realise that every kid in the university was lined up for bus tickets home for the weekend. The line-up was all the way out on the sidewalk!! I don't know why I didn't buy a return ticket to begin with . . . I just got in line and hoped for the best, started strategizing what I would do if i missed the bus, did I have enough cash to get a room and try again on Saturday and so on. Luckily, the line up moved pretty quickly and I got out of there in lots of time to catch my bus.
The ride home was uneventful and I got picked up by Jen and the kids without a hitch. Sherry couldn't pick me up because Paulina was sick . . . wouldn't you know it, now I'm feeling sick too. Sore throat, pain around my eyes, achy body, BLECH! Just in time for my big trip to Freddy this week, when everyone will be there, when all the events are happening. Hopefully I'll recover in time.
So, I had a great time and the reading was everything I expected and more.
Mood: sluggish
Drinking: Cabernet Sauvignon (California)
Listening To: Virgin Radio Classic Rock live from the UK (Paul McCartney & Wings)
Hair: Dirty, with a capital D
Thursday, September 16, 2004
From the Road . . .
As I stare out the bus window, it occurs to me how simply I could just disappear. What if I got on another bus in Fredericton headed to Montreal or Maine? Nobody would notice me missing until tomorrow. What would they think when I didn't get off the bus? Would they immediately start to worry? Or would they laugh and think I had missed the bus home? Or would they get angry at my stupidity? When would they start looking for me? How easy would I be to find?
Bus tickets are uniform items, no names, no identification. The girls at the Irving in Blackville would surely remember me purchasing a ticket if for no other reason than there were only two of us. But in Fredericton they must see lots of faces, many people passing through, I'm sure I would blend in.
I'm a pretty inconspicuous wallflower these days. I've fallen off the radar screen. I remember being younger and strangers speaking to me in the street, following me, chasing me even -- there was something about me I guess. I was very approachable and non-threatening. I drew the crazies. Not so much anymore. In a way I miss all the attention . . . but mostly I'm happy not to have to deal with all those people anymore. People don't notice me much now. I'm older of course and heavier, but I'm also more . . . I don't know, cynical? I've become my mother. I'm too old and thick through the middle to be of interest to men or women as either a possible conquest or a potential threat. I've become a kind of sexless blob. (Ironic this should come as I close in on my sexual peak ;-) But I don't mind. I can get on another bus, board a train, catch a flight to destination unknown, slip away in the night unnoticed and unmissed.
This is what I think about on the bus ride to Fredericton. Outside my window I see --
. . . a field with one, two, three, four deer, possibly more. But I've gone past.
. . . a lifesized carving of a moose wears a hunters orange vest so he won't get shot at during the hunting season.
. . . a flock of at least a dozen ducks float by a pillar on an old stone train bridge.
. . . every house in this small town has a wreath of dried flowers hanging in the window of the front door.
. . . a small rack of antlers left outside on an old washing machine. Exposed to the elements, enduring all types of weather, the antlers have aged to a dirty grey. Why keep them at all if they're not a valued prize to be mounted in the living room? I wonder if the family at least ate the meat or if the deer died for no good reason at all.
We stop at a gas station but this is no Mainway. This place is like J.D.'s bastard son -- flaking paint, walls browning with dirt, grimy windows -- the station is like an aging relative, abandoned in this decrepit town, left to rot.
I've forgotten how high up you are in an SMT bus. I can see things from here that I can't from car level. A road winds through a forest gully and into a tiny bridge. Hills roll off into the distance. This province is nothing but woods.
Suddenly I noticed I'm sitting at the Emergency Exit -- Pull up bar. Push out window. I repeat this silent mantra and worry. Can I do it? I don't want this responsibility and glance around nervously to see the faces of those I must save.
I wonder about the houses outside the window. Beautiful new homes on perfectly landscaped lots with lovely gardens and trees. These people care about their homes. This is obvious. Yet, right in the middle of them an old abandoned house falls into the ground surrounded by weeds. Why? Who owns this monstrosity? And why have they not torn it down?
Mood: Contemplative
Drinking: Water
Listening To: The sigh of air conditioning, the drone of road sounds and the tinny beat of faraway music playing on another passenger's stereo headphones
Hair: Fly-Away
Bus tickets are uniform items, no names, no identification. The girls at the Irving in Blackville would surely remember me purchasing a ticket if for no other reason than there were only two of us. But in Fredericton they must see lots of faces, many people passing through, I'm sure I would blend in.
I'm a pretty inconspicuous wallflower these days. I've fallen off the radar screen. I remember being younger and strangers speaking to me in the street, following me, chasing me even -- there was something about me I guess. I was very approachable and non-threatening. I drew the crazies. Not so much anymore. In a way I miss all the attention . . . but mostly I'm happy not to have to deal with all those people anymore. People don't notice me much now. I'm older of course and heavier, but I'm also more . . . I don't know, cynical? I've become my mother. I'm too old and thick through the middle to be of interest to men or women as either a possible conquest or a potential threat. I've become a kind of sexless blob. (Ironic this should come as I close in on my sexual peak ;-) But I don't mind. I can get on another bus, board a train, catch a flight to destination unknown, slip away in the night unnoticed and unmissed.
This is what I think about on the bus ride to Fredericton. Outside my window I see --
. . . a field with one, two, three, four deer, possibly more. But I've gone past.
. . . a lifesized carving of a moose wears a hunters orange vest so he won't get shot at during the hunting season.
. . . a flock of at least a dozen ducks float by a pillar on an old stone train bridge.
. . . every house in this small town has a wreath of dried flowers hanging in the window of the front door.
. . . a small rack of antlers left outside on an old washing machine. Exposed to the elements, enduring all types of weather, the antlers have aged to a dirty grey. Why keep them at all if they're not a valued prize to be mounted in the living room? I wonder if the family at least ate the meat or if the deer died for no good reason at all.
We stop at a gas station but this is no Mainway. This place is like J.D.'s bastard son -- flaking paint, walls browning with dirt, grimy windows -- the station is like an aging relative, abandoned in this decrepit town, left to rot.
I've forgotten how high up you are in an SMT bus. I can see things from here that I can't from car level. A road winds through a forest gully and into a tiny bridge. Hills roll off into the distance. This province is nothing but woods.
Suddenly I noticed I'm sitting at the Emergency Exit -- Pull up bar. Push out window. I repeat this silent mantra and worry. Can I do it? I don't want this responsibility and glance around nervously to see the faces of those I must save.
I wonder about the houses outside the window. Beautiful new homes on perfectly landscaped lots with lovely gardens and trees. These people care about their homes. This is obvious. Yet, right in the middle of them an old abandoned house falls into the ground surrounded by weeds. Why? Who owns this monstrosity? And why have they not torn it down?
Mood: Contemplative
Drinking: Water
Listening To: The sigh of air conditioning, the drone of road sounds and the tinny beat of faraway music playing on another passenger's stereo headphones
Hair: Fly-Away
And I'm Off!
Well, today's the day. Gotta pack! I'm leaving for Fredericton at 3 this afternoon, get there a little before 5pm. Mary might be there to pick me up. Busy evening planned and I'll be back here by early tomorrow afternoon. Such a flying trip! I'll probably end up buying Beth Powning's book. She's reading with Ann-Marie MacDonald. I think I've got everything Ann-Marie might be selling, so I'll just get them signed (NOTE TO SELF - Remember to pack your books to get signed)Beth Powning is an artist as well as writer. She takes some pretty amazing photographs. I saw some of her work at a gallery in Sackville earlier this summer. I think she lives in Shediac. Anyway, her novel called The Hat Boxes sounds pretty interesting and once I've heard her read from it I'm sure I'll have a hard time NOT buying the book.
I watched Canadian Idol last night even though I'm still devastated by the loss of my boy Jacob. I even voted a few times (maybe 20) for Theresa. There's no way in hell that Kalan won't win this thing, he doesn't need my vote to secure that position. I've always really liked Theresa anyway and I think it would be cool if we had an Idol that was a little more smoky around the edges. I'm probably going to miss the results show but Mom's going to tape it I think.
I also watched a little bit of a new CTV show that came on after. I think it's called Rising Star or something like that, basically about a 15 year old girl dealing with the instant fame of winning one of those talent contests like Idol. It wasn't bad, I suppose. But geared toward a much younger audience. Maybe it'll be the next Degrassi.
I see there's some new stories up on the Bread 'n Molasses website. And now I'm off to have pancakes. I'm on this pancake kick again (NEVER a good thing, loads of carbs in those suckers!) I've been experimenting with making them from scratch without a mix. Yesterday I made some using whole wheat flour with a touch of cinnamon and they were really good . . . so yeah, I'm going back for more. I mightn't get to eat much today with being in transit and having so much stuff to do. There probably won't be any refreshments at the reading . . . I'm not sure if there's a restaurant in my hotel. It could be breakfast tomorrow before I see any more food. So, I'm going to enjoy my pancake creations for the time being and hope they keep me from starving later.
Mood: Upbeat
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Sk8er Boie, Avril Lavigne
Hair: Can't believe I never had time to dye it!!
I watched Canadian Idol last night even though I'm still devastated by the loss of my boy Jacob. I even voted a few times (maybe 20) for Theresa. There's no way in hell that Kalan won't win this thing, he doesn't need my vote to secure that position. I've always really liked Theresa anyway and I think it would be cool if we had an Idol that was a little more smoky around the edges. I'm probably going to miss the results show but Mom's going to tape it I think.
I also watched a little bit of a new CTV show that came on after. I think it's called Rising Star or something like that, basically about a 15 year old girl dealing with the instant fame of winning one of those talent contests like Idol. It wasn't bad, I suppose. But geared toward a much younger audience. Maybe it'll be the next Degrassi.
I see there's some new stories up on the Bread 'n Molasses website. And now I'm off to have pancakes. I'm on this pancake kick again (NEVER a good thing, loads of carbs in those suckers!) I've been experimenting with making them from scratch without a mix. Yesterday I made some using whole wheat flour with a touch of cinnamon and they were really good . . . so yeah, I'm going back for more. I mightn't get to eat much today with being in transit and having so much stuff to do. There probably won't be any refreshments at the reading . . . I'm not sure if there's a restaurant in my hotel. It could be breakfast tomorrow before I see any more food. So, I'm going to enjoy my pancake creations for the time being and hope they keep me from starving later.
Mood: Upbeat
Drinking: Tea
Listening To: Sk8er Boie, Avril Lavigne
Hair: Can't believe I never had time to dye it!!
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Sign of the Times
Outside this morning with Nick I noticed some huge toadstools. And I mean HUGE!! Like I expected Papa Smurf to run out from the garden and shake a big stick at me.
I can't ever remember seeing this many mushrooms and things growing around the dooryard. It's just the last couple of years that I've started noticing this, but this year has been by far the worse. They're popping up everywhere! All over the lawns, in the bushes, the ditches, even on the gravel of the driveway where you wouldn't expect anything to sprout.
I think this is a sign of the times, the effect of all our soggy weather. I mean how many really hot and sunny nice days have we had this year? I think I remember two . . . maybe three. The effects of this destroying the environment thing should soon be obvious to everyone shouldn't it? All the knuckleheads running the countries around the world can't ignore all the changing weather patterns much longer can they? Alberta had snow this past week . . . SNOW! Think about it.
Mood: Puzzled
Drinking: bottom of the barrel boiled to death orange pekoe tea with milk
Listening To: the steady hum of machinery outside my window
Hair: Hopeless!!
I can't ever remember seeing this many mushrooms and things growing around the dooryard. It's just the last couple of years that I've started noticing this, but this year has been by far the worse. They're popping up everywhere! All over the lawns, in the bushes, the ditches, even on the gravel of the driveway where you wouldn't expect anything to sprout.
I think this is a sign of the times, the effect of all our soggy weather. I mean how many really hot and sunny nice days have we had this year? I think I remember two . . . maybe three. The effects of this destroying the environment thing should soon be obvious to everyone shouldn't it? All the knuckleheads running the countries around the world can't ignore all the changing weather patterns much longer can they? Alberta had snow this past week . . . SNOW! Think about it.
Mood: Puzzled
Drinking: bottom of the barrel boiled to death orange pekoe tea with milk
Listening To: the steady hum of machinery outside my window
Hair: Hopeless!!
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
A World of Dreams
Overslept. The alarm did not go off and I can't figure out why . . . everything seems right with the clock. Oh well, so I got an extra 3 hours of sleep, yay! I must've needed it.
In case I've never mentioned it, I have a very active dream life -- if I'm asleep, I'm dreaming. I dream in colour (shocked to learn most people don't, actually) and my dreams are like movies or plays. I'm in them of course, but I'm also off to the side watching them happen, maybe even making changes to the way things unfold, rewriting the script sometimes, definitely directing the production.
97% of the time I know I'm dreaming and the other 3% I have the most horrifying nightmares anyone could ever have. The percentage of nightmares used to be much higher but I'm finding the older I get, the less nightmares I have. This is good, because I have had some pretty terrifying nightmares in my day.
I also have a bunch of dreams that I dream over and over again — recurring dreams. There are probably about a dozen of them and I'll dream them once every six months or so. Sometimes I just let them unfold like they always have before. Sometimes I tweak them to see what happens. They usually aren't scary, but as dreams go, I seem to have a lot of fun with the stable of recurring ones; they're dependable, like old friends. You might think all this is kind of weird, but I'm just pretty in touch with the world of my dreams. It's a big part of what makes me, me.
Anyway, about five years ago a kind of odd thing started happening with my dreams. About once a week at least one celebrity shows up in my dreams. I call it my "celebrity guest stars." Obviously, my subconscious didn't think I was an interesting enough character to carry off these dreams all on my own so we had to go Hollywood. Sometimes, it's pretty low budget stuff and David Soul pops in for a cameo. Other times it's a bigger deal like when the entire Bon Jovi band shows up, and bring Heather Locklear.
I don’t seem to have much control over who pops in, but it's always a nice surprise. One night last week I was roaring around the streets of Rome on the back of a motorcycle driven by Kiefer Sutherland (I suspect too many Ford commercials might be the culprit there). Anyway, last night's dream had a really interesting celebrity guest star duo — Jen & Ben! Yeah, Bennifer showed up in my dream, which is rather odd because not only are they no longer a couple but I'm not a fan of either, I'd trade them both in for a single Matt Damon appearance any day. But hey, I get what I get I guess, Matt is obviously too busy to drop by.
In the dream, Stacy and I were on a road trip vacation and we stopped in this little town (which looked A LOT like the Rapids). We got invited to this big Thanksgiving dinner or something with a family of Heatherington's (yeah, you're right, I know that family). Anyway, we're at this dinner (where there was not so much turkey by the way but a tonne of candy!) and enter Ben looking frazzled because he has just seen Jen and her new hubby checking into a cottage down the road. Of course, I console him, offer advice, etc. Yeah, he's not my favourite, but come on — he's Ben Affleck! Anyway, he's having none of my shenanigans (that's the kind of word Ben throws around — shenanigans ;-) and he goes out to spy on her.
Cut to the good part of the movie/ dream. Turns out Jen also saw Ben out of the corner of her eye and sneaked to find him. They reunite in the bushes surrounding the cottage, declare their undying love for one another and he brings her back to this big dinner where we've finished eating all the candy and have moved onto the entertainment portion of the evening — KARAOKE!! Oddly, she does not sing, he does, but still it's kind of sweet, in his "I'm doing Regis Philbin" kind of way. You can totally tell though that she's just out for a night of closure, she will not be leaving the hubby anytime soon, which makes me feel a little sad for Ben because he really seems to want her back. The dream ended with him singing (badly, I might add) "You're So Vain."
Do you think I'm celebrity obsessed?
My dreams are really weird sometimes . . . maybe I shouldn't write them down. Could this be the material my family uses one day to have me committed? Something to keep in mind.
Mood: sunny
Drinking: tea & water simultaneously
Listening To: Ah, la paterno mano -- Andrea Bocelli
Hair: tucked behind my right ear
In case I've never mentioned it, I have a very active dream life -- if I'm asleep, I'm dreaming. I dream in colour (shocked to learn most people don't, actually) and my dreams are like movies or plays. I'm in them of course, but I'm also off to the side watching them happen, maybe even making changes to the way things unfold, rewriting the script sometimes, definitely directing the production.
97% of the time I know I'm dreaming and the other 3% I have the most horrifying nightmares anyone could ever have. The percentage of nightmares used to be much higher but I'm finding the older I get, the less nightmares I have. This is good, because I have had some pretty terrifying nightmares in my day.
I also have a bunch of dreams that I dream over and over again — recurring dreams. There are probably about a dozen of them and I'll dream them once every six months or so. Sometimes I just let them unfold like they always have before. Sometimes I tweak them to see what happens. They usually aren't scary, but as dreams go, I seem to have a lot of fun with the stable of recurring ones; they're dependable, like old friends. You might think all this is kind of weird, but I'm just pretty in touch with the world of my dreams. It's a big part of what makes me, me.
Anyway, about five years ago a kind of odd thing started happening with my dreams. About once a week at least one celebrity shows up in my dreams. I call it my "celebrity guest stars." Obviously, my subconscious didn't think I was an interesting enough character to carry off these dreams all on my own so we had to go Hollywood. Sometimes, it's pretty low budget stuff and David Soul pops in for a cameo. Other times it's a bigger deal like when the entire Bon Jovi band shows up, and bring Heather Locklear.
I don’t seem to have much control over who pops in, but it's always a nice surprise. One night last week I was roaring around the streets of Rome on the back of a motorcycle driven by Kiefer Sutherland (I suspect too many Ford commercials might be the culprit there). Anyway, last night's dream had a really interesting celebrity guest star duo — Jen & Ben! Yeah, Bennifer showed up in my dream, which is rather odd because not only are they no longer a couple but I'm not a fan of either, I'd trade them both in for a single Matt Damon appearance any day. But hey, I get what I get I guess, Matt is obviously too busy to drop by.
In the dream, Stacy and I were on a road trip vacation and we stopped in this little town (which looked A LOT like the Rapids). We got invited to this big Thanksgiving dinner or something with a family of Heatherington's (yeah, you're right, I know that family). Anyway, we're at this dinner (where there was not so much turkey by the way but a tonne of candy!) and enter Ben looking frazzled because he has just seen Jen and her new hubby checking into a cottage down the road. Of course, I console him, offer advice, etc. Yeah, he's not my favourite, but come on — he's Ben Affleck! Anyway, he's having none of my shenanigans (that's the kind of word Ben throws around — shenanigans ;-) and he goes out to spy on her.
Cut to the good part of the movie/ dream. Turns out Jen also saw Ben out of the corner of her eye and sneaked to find him. They reunite in the bushes surrounding the cottage, declare their undying love for one another and he brings her back to this big dinner where we've finished eating all the candy and have moved onto the entertainment portion of the evening — KARAOKE!! Oddly, she does not sing, he does, but still it's kind of sweet, in his "I'm doing Regis Philbin" kind of way. You can totally tell though that she's just out for a night of closure, she will not be leaving the hubby anytime soon, which makes me feel a little sad for Ben because he really seems to want her back. The dream ended with him singing (badly, I might add) "You're So Vain."
Do you think I'm celebrity obsessed?
My dreams are really weird sometimes . . . maybe I shouldn't write them down. Could this be the material my family uses one day to have me committed? Something to keep in mind.
Mood: sunny
Drinking: tea & water simultaneously
Listening To: Ah, la paterno mano -- Andrea Bocelli
Hair: tucked behind my right ear
Monday, September 13, 2004
Granted a Reprieve
I gave in and laid down late this afternoon; I wasn't getting any work done anyway. Slept until 9:30 pm. Normally, I'm not much for napping in the evening, screws up my system, makes it impossible to sleep later, but today this was just what I needed. Feeling a lot better now that my bones got some rest. I also slept with my neck brace on which helps a lot sometimes to take the kinks out. Ready to dance now, baby! Too bad my radio stream keeps cutting in and out, but coming in pretty good for dial up I guess.
So, I got an email this evening from Mary at the WFNB that I'm kind of jazzed about. She wanted to know if I could come a bit earlier for the Ann-Marie MacDonald reading in case she needs help setting anything up and so on. Of course, I jumped on that. Anything that puts me in tighter with the writer crew is way cool in my book. When my novel is done, success or failure could come down to who I know not how good or bad the thing is written . . . because I mean we pretty much know it's going to pure genius, right? ;-)
Hey! Stop laughing.
In the mail today I finally got the first issue of NB Ink that I did. The copy job was not the best, I gotta say. Super dark on some pages, light on others. I'll have to take a few minutes before I do the December one and see what I can do to make it turn out better when it's reproduced, which percentage greyscale shows up best and so on. Judy (WFNB pres) emailed me and said she thought it was great, so I guess that's something. It was actually a lot of fun to do and extra cash is always good.
In other news I've exchanged a couple of emails with a new guy these past couple of days . . . if I were a sk8er girl I'd say he's "hawt", lol. Yeah, he's a cutie from his pics anyway. 24 years old. (I don't know what is up with me and the 24 year old guys! Is it because I'm entering into my sexual peak years and guys that age are right there with me?)Dark features and hair, which is good because quite frankly I have to get over that whole blonde thing. He's an English major (Can we say WRITER?!!) at Mount A. (HELLO SACKVILLE!!) He sent me a smile on one of those dating sites and we've exchanged a couple of messages. It's kind of cool, he's taking the classes I want to take so I've been picking his brains. Definitely a sign, confirmation that Sackville is the place, if nothing else. Don't you think? Apparently if I want to get into this particular creative writing course I've got my eye on, I have to submit a portfolio in the spring for the fall term. Good to know.
Anyway, time to get some work done since I slept the evening away. I've got a lot on the go with this Alden Nowlan Lit festival, website changes and the like.
Mood: Soaring
Drinking: Diet Pepsi
Listening To: Virgin Classic Rock Radio - Live from the UK (Walk this way, Aerosmith)
Hair: surprisingly soft and fluffy for being so dirty
So, I got an email this evening from Mary at the WFNB that I'm kind of jazzed about. She wanted to know if I could come a bit earlier for the Ann-Marie MacDonald reading in case she needs help setting anything up and so on. Of course, I jumped on that. Anything that puts me in tighter with the writer crew is way cool in my book. When my novel is done, success or failure could come down to who I know not how good or bad the thing is written . . . because I mean we pretty much know it's going to pure genius, right? ;-)
Hey! Stop laughing.
In the mail today I finally got the first issue of NB Ink that I did. The copy job was not the best, I gotta say. Super dark on some pages, light on others. I'll have to take a few minutes before I do the December one and see what I can do to make it turn out better when it's reproduced, which percentage greyscale shows up best and so on. Judy (WFNB pres) emailed me and said she thought it was great, so I guess that's something. It was actually a lot of fun to do and extra cash is always good.
In other news I've exchanged a couple of emails with a new guy these past couple of days . . . if I were a sk8er girl I'd say he's "hawt", lol. Yeah, he's a cutie from his pics anyway. 24 years old. (I don't know what is up with me and the 24 year old guys! Is it because I'm entering into my sexual peak years and guys that age are right there with me?)Dark features and hair, which is good because quite frankly I have to get over that whole blonde thing. He's an English major (Can we say WRITER?!!) at Mount A. (HELLO SACKVILLE!!) He sent me a smile on one of those dating sites and we've exchanged a couple of messages. It's kind of cool, he's taking the classes I want to take so I've been picking his brains. Definitely a sign, confirmation that Sackville is the place, if nothing else. Don't you think? Apparently if I want to get into this particular creative writing course I've got my eye on, I have to submit a portfolio in the spring for the fall term. Good to know.
Anyway, time to get some work done since I slept the evening away. I've got a lot on the go with this Alden Nowlan Lit festival, website changes and the like.
Mood: Soaring
Drinking: Diet Pepsi
Listening To: Virgin Classic Rock Radio - Live from the UK (Walk this way, Aerosmith)
Hair: surprisingly soft and fluffy for being so dirty
Seasons Change
Not having a very good day. The seasons are changing, it's no longer summer and fall hasn't quite settled in either. This means I'm in agony with arthritis -- I am every time the seasons change. Such is the life of an old arthritic broad I guess ;-) I didn't sleep a wink last night. I went to bed and closed my eyes and rolled round and round all night trying to get comfortable until finally I just said to hell with it and got up at 5:30 am. There's just no comfort when I'm in this state. I knew it was coming but hoped it would hold off until after my Fredericton trip. There's no preventing it, all the supplements, exercise, etc. only help ease the pain somewhat, but they don't get rid of it completely. Seasons change and I go into a flare. That's just the way it is. Today, I've had my neck brace on all day, keeping myself wrapped up in sweaters and blankets to help keep dampness out of the joints. My fingers and wrists are particularly bad so I've been rubbing on the deep cold which of course always gets into my eyes and makes my eyes water. Great for my sinuses though, clearing them right out breathing in all this menthol. But I must look like a big blubbering mess. It's really exhausting after only 24 hours, hopefully it'll let up a little and let me sleep some tonight. I've got so much work to do and I don't want to be a zombie come Thursday when I finally get to meet Ann-Marie MacDonald. It's days like this that I really have to focus on the good days I've had this summer, remember them.
Mood: Achy breaky
Drinking: nothing. Got a dry mouth too.
Listening To: Teenage Wasteland, The Who
Hair: In my eyes
Mood: Achy breaky
Drinking: nothing. Got a dry mouth too.
Listening To: Teenage Wasteland, The Who
Hair: In my eyes
OMG!! What have I done?!
So, I finally bit the bullet and sent the link for my personal blog to some friends. Now of course I'm a little neurotic wondering exactly what I've written all these months and if any of it is going to come back to haunt me if my friends read it. . . I'm resisting the urge to delete all the posts except the most recent before anyone gets here. . . resisting . . . still resisting . . . THIS IS HARD!
Okay. I'm good. For now.
Welcome to my blog!
Mood: Freaked out
Drinking: Bordeaux
Listening To: Pride, U2
Hair: getting grey
Okay. I'm good. For now.
Welcome to my blog!
Mood: Freaked out
Drinking: Bordeaux
Listening To: Pride, U2
Hair: getting grey
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Freddy Time
So, this week I'm heading out for a brief overnighter to Fredericton. It's the Alden Nowlan Literary Festival and Ann-Marie MacDonald is giving a reading on Thursday night. I'm a big fan of her work. I worked a matinee performance of Goodnight Desdemona, Good Morning Juliet at Nightwood Theatre back in the 80's. I sold t-shirts in the lobby at intermission and instead of being paid in cash I got a free t-shirt and to see the play. This was before it won all the awards and stuff. That's when I first started liking Ann-Marie MacDonald. I've followed her writing and acting career ever since. So, on Thursday afternoon I'm catching the bus to Freddyville, checking into a hotel for the night, grabbing some supper and going to a reading/signing at the university. Hopefully, I'll get to meet her and get my books signed and have a good time. I'm staying overnight, checking out early, getting back on the bus and I'll be home by early afternoon. It's a flying trip. But it'll be worth it I think. Next week I'm going for a longer excursion and participating in more of the Festival events. My friend, Elizabeth, is giving a reading and I'm taking a workshop. Stacy might take a mini-break and come with me to some of the events and visit with people in Fredericton. That'll be fun.
Mood: Full *burp*
Drinking: Cold Coffee with cream
Listening To: Virgin Radio UK (Special on The Clash)
Hair: loose & Golden Blonde
Mood: Full *burp*
Drinking: Cold Coffee with cream
Listening To: Virgin Radio UK (Special on The Clash)
Hair: loose & Golden Blonde
Date Night
Last night was Date Night! And no, that doesn't mean what you probably think it means. Date Night happens when my best friend and I get together and do something. Actually, it doesn't even have to be at night, sometimes we start in the morning and go the whole day. But yesterday was not one of those days. (Exhausting! Can't do those things too often.)
I met up with Stacy at her work around 4 pm. While she finished up I surfed the web on the high-speed connection getting the latest scoop on Jacob Hoggard from message boards. Anyone else devastated by his departure from Canadian Idol? Man!! I thought for sure it would be down to a showdown between him and Kalan. I thought Kalan would probably win in the end but that the voting would be pretty intense and close. I'll be keeping my eyes out for Jacob and his band Hedley. I think they'll go far. I downloaded a bunch of clips from the show and made a Jacob CD for Stacy that I gave her yesterday.
Anyway, we left around 5:30 and headed to Newcastle to pick up some oil for Stacy's boyfriend. I was expecting a couple of cases of litre containers, but of course it ended up being big ass drums. Stacy nearly threw out her back lifting them into the trunk. I probably should have helped, huh? ;-) Yeah, well anyway, then we went to one of our favourite shopping places --- The Liquor Store! Going to the liquor store for me and Stacy is almost as good as an office supplies or book store, we can go in and stay forever, looking at everything, deciding what to try. I'm on a big red wine kick lately. So, I'm always trying different blends from different countries. Stacy's on a margarita and fruity drink kick so she's always looking for new mixers and coolers to try. Last night we were in a hurry though, so I just grabbed a bottle of Bordeaux I knew I liked and she got some coolers and we were out of there without browsing too much.
Off to Jungle Jim's for supper. We're both on this Tex-Mex kick since we went to Moncton in the spring and had the best Tex-Mex food at Lone Star. So, we ordered the nachos with beef and margaritas. Very good! Jungle Jim's is the place to go on the river for tex-mex and margaritas. And we should know, because we've been EVERYWHERE in search of the best margarita. Saddlers has the best one, by the way, but no nachos on the menu. A bit too many jalepenos for my liking at Jungle Jim's, but hey that's easily fixed the next time I order.
After supper we went shopping in the mall, looking for a watch for Stacy. She's allergic to metals so she needs a watch made entirely of plastic or wrapped in fabric or something so no metal touches her skin. Needless to say this is challenging and she hasn't had a watch in awhile. We couldn't find any last night.
A Stacy/Kellie excursion would not be complete without buying something so we decided to head over to Rogers Video and see what dvds were on sale. JACKPOT! We hit the 2 for $15 sale! Yay! Stacy bought 4 newer releases while I caught up with some oldies but goodies. I got Four Weddings & A Funeral with Hugh Grant, Better Off Dead with John Cusack, Heathers (CLASSIC!!) with Winona Ryder and Christian Slater (the original trench coat boy!) and then I got an Italian film called Respiro that won a bunch of awards and looked interesting. I was pretty excited about finding Better Off Dead and Heathers. I'm a DVD junkie. I love the extra features! I rarely bought VHS tapes but with DVDs I buy them constantly. I think it's worse than books . . . and that's really saying something.
So after the shopping spree it was time to get to the point of our little outing and head to the movie theatre. We had some difficulty deciding between Wicker Park and Without a Paddle. Both had mixed reviews from reviewers and people we knew. But finally we went with Wicker Park because it started earlier and went into it with no expectations whatsoever. People said it was confusing, all the shifting from past to present. I don't know what that was all about, the shifts were really smooth and not at all confusing. I mean really they were quite linear and standard, nothing out of left field at all. Very weird that people would find it confusing. Pulp Fiction was 100 times more confusing because the order of the story wasn't chronological and I didn't find Pulp Fiction confusing at all. LOL Another comment people had made about the film was that it was stupid, one telephone call could have cleared up the whole mess. Watching it though, calls were made, other calls were attempted, it was quite logical why they never connected. Another comment I heard was that you didn't know what was going on until the end, edge of the seat sort of a good confusion. But I didn't find that either. There was no big reveal at the end. All in all, it was a pretty good movie, NOBODY does being in love like Josh Hartnett! I also heard he slept through the whole thing without any emotion, which I completely disagree with. I found his character to be very believable and expressive. And I'm not the biggest Josh Hartnett fan in the world or anything like that. If you were on the fence about going to see this, I say go for it. It was a good time.
I got home around 11:30, poured a glass of wine and popped in Heathers. I haven't seen it in awhile. Forgot how funny it was. Classic!
Mood: Lazy
Listening to: Jonny Lang, "Red Light"
Drinking: black coffee
Hair: strawberry blonde
I met up with Stacy at her work around 4 pm. While she finished up I surfed the web on the high-speed connection getting the latest scoop on Jacob Hoggard from message boards. Anyone else devastated by his departure from Canadian Idol? Man!! I thought for sure it would be down to a showdown between him and Kalan. I thought Kalan would probably win in the end but that the voting would be pretty intense and close. I'll be keeping my eyes out for Jacob and his band Hedley. I think they'll go far. I downloaded a bunch of clips from the show and made a Jacob CD for Stacy that I gave her yesterday.
Anyway, we left around 5:30 and headed to Newcastle to pick up some oil for Stacy's boyfriend. I was expecting a couple of cases of litre containers, but of course it ended up being big ass drums. Stacy nearly threw out her back lifting them into the trunk. I probably should have helped, huh? ;-) Yeah, well anyway, then we went to one of our favourite shopping places --- The Liquor Store! Going to the liquor store for me and Stacy is almost as good as an office supplies or book store, we can go in and stay forever, looking at everything, deciding what to try. I'm on a big red wine kick lately. So, I'm always trying different blends from different countries. Stacy's on a margarita and fruity drink kick so she's always looking for new mixers and coolers to try. Last night we were in a hurry though, so I just grabbed a bottle of Bordeaux I knew I liked and she got some coolers and we were out of there without browsing too much.
Off to Jungle Jim's for supper. We're both on this Tex-Mex kick since we went to Moncton in the spring and had the best Tex-Mex food at Lone Star. So, we ordered the nachos with beef and margaritas. Very good! Jungle Jim's is the place to go on the river for tex-mex and margaritas. And we should know, because we've been EVERYWHERE in search of the best margarita. Saddlers has the best one, by the way, but no nachos on the menu. A bit too many jalepenos for my liking at Jungle Jim's, but hey that's easily fixed the next time I order.
After supper we went shopping in the mall, looking for a watch for Stacy. She's allergic to metals so she needs a watch made entirely of plastic or wrapped in fabric or something so no metal touches her skin. Needless to say this is challenging and she hasn't had a watch in awhile. We couldn't find any last night.
A Stacy/Kellie excursion would not be complete without buying something so we decided to head over to Rogers Video and see what dvds were on sale. JACKPOT! We hit the 2 for $15 sale! Yay! Stacy bought 4 newer releases while I caught up with some oldies but goodies. I got Four Weddings & A Funeral with Hugh Grant, Better Off Dead with John Cusack, Heathers (CLASSIC!!) with Winona Ryder and Christian Slater (the original trench coat boy!) and then I got an Italian film called Respiro that won a bunch of awards and looked interesting. I was pretty excited about finding Better Off Dead and Heathers. I'm a DVD junkie. I love the extra features! I rarely bought VHS tapes but with DVDs I buy them constantly. I think it's worse than books . . . and that's really saying something.
So after the shopping spree it was time to get to the point of our little outing and head to the movie theatre. We had some difficulty deciding between Wicker Park and Without a Paddle. Both had mixed reviews from reviewers and people we knew. But finally we went with Wicker Park because it started earlier and went into it with no expectations whatsoever. People said it was confusing, all the shifting from past to present. I don't know what that was all about, the shifts were really smooth and not at all confusing. I mean really they were quite linear and standard, nothing out of left field at all. Very weird that people would find it confusing. Pulp Fiction was 100 times more confusing because the order of the story wasn't chronological and I didn't find Pulp Fiction confusing at all. LOL Another comment people had made about the film was that it was stupid, one telephone call could have cleared up the whole mess. Watching it though, calls were made, other calls were attempted, it was quite logical why they never connected. Another comment I heard was that you didn't know what was going on until the end, edge of the seat sort of a good confusion. But I didn't find that either. There was no big reveal at the end. All in all, it was a pretty good movie, NOBODY does being in love like Josh Hartnett! I also heard he slept through the whole thing without any emotion, which I completely disagree with. I found his character to be very believable and expressive. And I'm not the biggest Josh Hartnett fan in the world or anything like that. If you were on the fence about going to see this, I say go for it. It was a good time.
I got home around 11:30, poured a glass of wine and popped in Heathers. I haven't seen it in awhile. Forgot how funny it was. Classic!
Mood: Lazy
Listening to: Jonny Lang, "Red Light"
Drinking: black coffee
Hair: strawberry blonde
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
What to do when your "Get Up & Go" gets up and goes
God! What a weekend! Every Labour Day weekend for the last, oh . . . I don't know, probably 13 years, my ex-boyfriend's kids have come to stay at my mom's house for the weekend. Yeah, I know that's kind of weird, but what can you do? My mom loves those kids. So, this year the oldest girl turned 13 and we had a big get together for the weekend as usual. Things got underway Saturday evening when we had a pot luck supper. I stayed up until 3 am Friday night cooking . . . and drinking some wine (a whopping four glasses actually!) I made a few different dishes, bbq pork and stir fried rice medley, taco hamburger medley with nachos, guacamole, spicy beef and mexican rice, honey garlic chicken, and Italian chicken in marinara with pasta. Yeah, I do love to cook! And I even did dishes for this special occasion. One of my sisters' made sweet 'n sour meatballs, potatoe scallop and hamburger rolls. The other made a potatoe, chicken, broccolli and cheese casserole. Top the dinner off with rolls, butter, a nice bottle of Bordeaux, chocolate birthday cake and ice cream . . . and it was quite the feast. I think there are still some leftovers in the fridge, though my brother can have them, I'm still stuffed!
My sisters brought their kids and husbands and we played some birthday type games with prizes and later had a campfire outside and made smores (which I never had before, yummy!) Sunday morning everyone returned to my mom's house for a birthday brunch complete with pancakes, sausage, bacon, ham, hash browns, etc. I didn't enjoy brunch very much I admit. By the time all the children were fed everything was overcooked and dried out. There weren't enough pancakes. Mom's heart didn't seem into it. Brunch had been her idea but then that morning she didn't want to cook anything, no eggs, no toast, no muffins, no scones, nothing really brunch-like, just a breakfast with a lot of different types of burnt pork. I don't know what was up with that. But anyway, it's over finally and all the children have gone home, gone off to school actually, and my mother has gone back to work and finally I'm alone in the house and have a little peace and quiet. It's nice. So nice I gave myself a facial and dared to shave my legs. But I have to admit, all the weekend eating is still weighing me down a bit. Blech! It's back to lean meats, whole grains and veggies tomorrow.
Mood: Played Right the F' Out!
Listening to: Chariot, Gavin DeGraw
Drinking: Hardy's Cabernet Merlot (Australia)
Hair: greasy
My sisters brought their kids and husbands and we played some birthday type games with prizes and later had a campfire outside and made smores (which I never had before, yummy!) Sunday morning everyone returned to my mom's house for a birthday brunch complete with pancakes, sausage, bacon, ham, hash browns, etc. I didn't enjoy brunch very much I admit. By the time all the children were fed everything was overcooked and dried out. There weren't enough pancakes. Mom's heart didn't seem into it. Brunch had been her idea but then that morning she didn't want to cook anything, no eggs, no toast, no muffins, no scones, nothing really brunch-like, just a breakfast with a lot of different types of burnt pork. I don't know what was up with that. But anyway, it's over finally and all the children have gone home, gone off to school actually, and my mother has gone back to work and finally I'm alone in the house and have a little peace and quiet. It's nice. So nice I gave myself a facial and dared to shave my legs. But I have to admit, all the weekend eating is still weighing me down a bit. Blech! It's back to lean meats, whole grains and veggies tomorrow.
Mood: Played Right the F' Out!
Listening to: Chariot, Gavin DeGraw
Drinking: Hardy's Cabernet Merlot (Australia)
Hair: greasy
Saturday, August 28, 2004
Return from Clutter & Disarray
Late last fall I decided I needed to take my life back -- lose weight, embrace my work, accept my family for who they are, get healthy, become more organized and productive, start writing again and doing the things I truly enjoy. Throughout the year, I've been working toward this, somewhat sporadic by times, but still I haven't given up completely, I continue to slog through.
It was like that when I quit smoking. I had at least a year of fits and starts before I finally got the hang of it and saw it through, made the life change. So, I think developing the rest of my life could happen like that too. That's why I don't get down on myself when I get away from exercising for awhile or I decide I'm going to pig out on chips and ice cream all weekend. I allow my slip-ups because I know it doesn't kill the process.
I took a big step last week and moved my office from the general living room into the privacy of my own bedroom. My mother and I have been at odds about this for a long time now. She didn't want me to do it . . . Though I'm not entirely certain why. Maybe she thought I really didn't want to and she was just being supportive. Anyway, in order to facilitate this move and have it be functional, I had to reclaim that bedroom space as my own, which is something I haven't done in awhile. There were a lot of papers to go through, junk to toss, books to organize, things to file . . . But finally, I got it all done and now everything is completely organised to the best of my ability.
I may be slow and somewhat sporadic but eventually I will win this race.
Mood: Determined
Listening to: Waiting for the Miracle, Leonard Cohen
Drinking: Black tea
Hair: fuzzy, badly damaged
It was like that when I quit smoking. I had at least a year of fits and starts before I finally got the hang of it and saw it through, made the life change. So, I think developing the rest of my life could happen like that too. That's why I don't get down on myself when I get away from exercising for awhile or I decide I'm going to pig out on chips and ice cream all weekend. I allow my slip-ups because I know it doesn't kill the process.
I took a big step last week and moved my office from the general living room into the privacy of my own bedroom. My mother and I have been at odds about this for a long time now. She didn't want me to do it . . . Though I'm not entirely certain why. Maybe she thought I really didn't want to and she was just being supportive. Anyway, in order to facilitate this move and have it be functional, I had to reclaim that bedroom space as my own, which is something I haven't done in awhile. There were a lot of papers to go through, junk to toss, books to organize, things to file . . . But finally, I got it all done and now everything is completely organised to the best of my ability.
I may be slow and somewhat sporadic but eventually I will win this race.
Mood: Determined
Listening to: Waiting for the Miracle, Leonard Cohen
Drinking: Black tea
Hair: fuzzy, badly damaged
Monday, August 16, 2004
Poetry Workshop
Hanging out at PJ Billingtons in the Wharf Inn after a day of poetry with Roger Moore. What have I learned?
. . . It's easier to stay silent and receive criticism without having to defend or justify your work . . . You can open yourself up by freeing yourself from structure . . . One way to keep ideas flowing and generate new ones is through webbing . . . (I wonder if Mom has gone to the wrong hotel pick me up? Maybe she thought I said the Rodd?)
So, I wrote a poem today, then tweaked it while sitting at the restaurant. The inspiration we were given was "happiness". And this is what I came up with:
Mid-morning
The train swaggers into the station like a super star
Rays of sunshine washing over its body
Popping like paparazzi flash bulbs
Leaves sigh in the trees
Squirrels chatter
The child breaks free of the exiting pack
Runs into his fathers outstretched arms
Lifts off the ground
Legs dangling
Swinging in a wide arc
Held in tight embrace
Welcome home
Mood: Creative
Drinking: The house wine, Red
Listening To: Top 40 radio
Hair: severely tied back in a tight ponytail
. . . It's easier to stay silent and receive criticism without having to defend or justify your work . . . You can open yourself up by freeing yourself from structure . . . One way to keep ideas flowing and generate new ones is through webbing . . . (I wonder if Mom has gone to the wrong hotel pick me up? Maybe she thought I said the Rodd?)
So, I wrote a poem today, then tweaked it while sitting at the restaurant. The inspiration we were given was "happiness". And this is what I came up with:
Mid-morning
The train swaggers into the station like a super star
Rays of sunshine washing over its body
Popping like paparazzi flash bulbs
Leaves sigh in the trees
Squirrels chatter
The child breaks free of the exiting pack
Runs into his fathers outstretched arms
Lifts off the ground
Legs dangling
Swinging in a wide arc
Held in tight embrace
Welcome home
Mood: Creative
Drinking: The house wine, Red
Listening To: Top 40 radio
Hair: severely tied back in a tight ponytail
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Too much sleep? Not enough?
Went to bed so early last night! Asleep by 9 pm, if not way before. Awake now for about a half-hour and it's still not even 6 am. How crazy is that?! Nearly fell out of this little bed in the night. Rolled over into air but luckily caught myself and was able to cling to the side. These old beds are so high; I could've really hurt myself if I fell out. I love this place! What a great atmosphere! I feel like writing every second.
Had an odd sort of dream. A high school dream, except we were all grown up. The cafeteria was bigger and not actually a cafeteria anymore, but the floor of a stock market with a big index high on the wall clicking with changing stock prices.
I needed a job and Stacy advised me as we drove around in Mable with Bradley H. She apparently already had a good job or didn't need one like I did. I had to ask Tommy Mc., Kevin D., or Vance V. for work because they were like the head honchos of these huge corporations. It's starting to get pretty fuzzy in my head now.
I went to see Kevin D. first and he gave me a bunch of sweatshirts and other novelty type items like ball caps embroidered with his business crest. He brought this big garbage bag into the cafeteria/stock market and dumped it onto the floor, gave me whatever I wanted, but couldn’t give me a job.
So then I had to see Tommy Mc. He was in the dairy biz, like cows. I really impressed him when I told him that some sort of milk bacteria had been banned and his stock would drop as a result. When we looked at the big stock ticker on the wall, sure enough his stock was plummeting. But he couldn't hire me either as a result of the ban and shareholders bailing.
So, that just left Vance V. I couldn't even get an appointment with him. He was avoiding me like the plague. I literally had to chase him down the hallways of the school/office building. I caught him in the hallway just outside the physics/chemistry lab, pinned him against the wall. While Tommy and Kevin had altered their appearances to look like men of business, you know the suit, great shoes, nice haircut, etc. Vance was himself in faded jeans, T-shirt, denim jacket, worn out running shoes, etc.
I pinned his scrawny butt against the wall and he put up his hands to push me away started protesting saying how he was involved with someone and couldn't have nothing to do with me, blah, blah, blah. I butt in and told him to get a hold of himself. I wasn't trying to get with him; I just wanted a friggin' job. He hemmed and hawed, tried to get away from me. I told him I was really smart that I could help his business a lot. Finally, he relented, gave me a job, but told me he could only afford to pay me $3,750/ month. I said that was fine I would make do . . .
And woke up giggling with ecstasy as I ran those figures over in my head. $3,750/ month!! I wish!
Mood: Dreamy
Drinking: Last night's leftover flat Sprite
Hair: Bed-Head
Had an odd sort of dream. A high school dream, except we were all grown up. The cafeteria was bigger and not actually a cafeteria anymore, but the floor of a stock market with a big index high on the wall clicking with changing stock prices.
I needed a job and Stacy advised me as we drove around in Mable with Bradley H. She apparently already had a good job or didn't need one like I did. I had to ask Tommy Mc., Kevin D., or Vance V. for work because they were like the head honchos of these huge corporations. It's starting to get pretty fuzzy in my head now.
I went to see Kevin D. first and he gave me a bunch of sweatshirts and other novelty type items like ball caps embroidered with his business crest. He brought this big garbage bag into the cafeteria/stock market and dumped it onto the floor, gave me whatever I wanted, but couldn’t give me a job.
So then I had to see Tommy Mc. He was in the dairy biz, like cows. I really impressed him when I told him that some sort of milk bacteria had been banned and his stock would drop as a result. When we looked at the big stock ticker on the wall, sure enough his stock was plummeting. But he couldn't hire me either as a result of the ban and shareholders bailing.
So, that just left Vance V. I couldn't even get an appointment with him. He was avoiding me like the plague. I literally had to chase him down the hallways of the school/office building. I caught him in the hallway just outside the physics/chemistry lab, pinned him against the wall. While Tommy and Kevin had altered their appearances to look like men of business, you know the suit, great shoes, nice haircut, etc. Vance was himself in faded jeans, T-shirt, denim jacket, worn out running shoes, etc.
I pinned his scrawny butt against the wall and he put up his hands to push me away started protesting saying how he was involved with someone and couldn't have nothing to do with me, blah, blah, blah. I butt in and told him to get a hold of himself. I wasn't trying to get with him; I just wanted a friggin' job. He hemmed and hawed, tried to get away from me. I told him I was really smart that I could help his business a lot. Finally, he relented, gave me a job, but told me he could only afford to pay me $3,750/ month. I said that was fine I would make do . . .
And woke up giggling with ecstasy as I ran those figures over in my head. $3,750/ month!! I wish!
Mood: Dreamy
Drinking: Last night's leftover flat Sprite
Hair: Bed-Head
Monday, August 09, 2004
Some places just feel like home
Sitting high on my old-fashioned bed with the paisley bedspread and brocade at the Marshland Inn in Sackville, I'm reminded of my grandparents' homes when I was a kid. I can't feel Callum here . . . I don't think he'd be here. But I feel like I belong . . . that strange feeling of comfort I've felt sometimes meeting certain people for the first time. That's how I feel in this town. Almost like I did the first time I saw the Toronto skyline from the 401 in the wee hours of the morning, except without the girlish butterflies of excitement. This feeling is subtle, peaceful. I recognise little from other trips through here . . . yet, it all seems so familiar, so embracing. Have I come home?
Mom is with me. I'm around the corner tucked under the eaves of this ancient house. She has the bigger bed. Mine is barely a single and pretty hard. She's telling me about Grammie, her mother, and about how it was giving birth back in those days. Pregnancy was dangerous business and my grandmother had 12 children. Mom wonders whether there were any miscarriages and supposes there must have been. Women had to stay in bed for 10 days after having a baby. The 7th day was supposedly the most dangerous. I don't know why. Neither does Mom. With being bedridden that long it was necessary for someone to come and stay at your house for a couple of weeks to look after things. Another woman, a relative or friend of the family. Mom remembers people coming to their house when she was a kid. This reminds me of a short story I read once . . . Alice Munroe maybe? Another woman came into the house because the wife was sick and ended up staying, becoming the husband's mistress. I think the wife was ill though, not in childbirth. This is how Callum's mother died -- maybe even on the 7th day. Hmmm. The 7th day has biblical references as well, so that would fit in nicely.
Mom is remembering all kinds of things about old houses, her childhood, a time so cold there were icicles hanging over the beds -- this place is effecting her too, taking her back, reminding her of home.
Mood: Content
Drinking: Water
Hair: Light Auburn
Mom is with me. I'm around the corner tucked under the eaves of this ancient house. She has the bigger bed. Mine is barely a single and pretty hard. She's telling me about Grammie, her mother, and about how it was giving birth back in those days. Pregnancy was dangerous business and my grandmother had 12 children. Mom wonders whether there were any miscarriages and supposes there must have been. Women had to stay in bed for 10 days after having a baby. The 7th day was supposedly the most dangerous. I don't know why. Neither does Mom. With being bedridden that long it was necessary for someone to come and stay at your house for a couple of weeks to look after things. Another woman, a relative or friend of the family. Mom remembers people coming to their house when she was a kid. This reminds me of a short story I read once . . . Alice Munroe maybe? Another woman came into the house because the wife was sick and ended up staying, becoming the husband's mistress. I think the wife was ill though, not in childbirth. This is how Callum's mother died -- maybe even on the 7th day. Hmmm. The 7th day has biblical references as well, so that would fit in nicely.
Mom is remembering all kinds of things about old houses, her childhood, a time so cold there were icicles hanging over the beds -- this place is effecting her too, taking her back, reminding her of home.
Mood: Content
Drinking: Water
Hair: Light Auburn
Monday, July 05, 2004
Playing to An Audience . . . of one?
I was pretty surprised to read my first comment from a reader the other day. It never occurred to me that someone might actually read this blog. That probably sounds pretty weird, that I was shocked to learn someone had found me. I work online, I participate in another blog as part of my work. We go to great lengths to get people to visit our sites. It's hard to keep traffic up, a lot of work . . . so, I guess I just thought that if I didn't tell anyone I had personal blog, if I didn't do anything to drive traffic to my blog, then I could type away in obscurity and nobody would know I was here.
I know, it doesn't even make much sense to me :-) I guess I wanted a safe place of total anonimity where even my internal censor could let its hair down and just say whatever came to mind. It's hard to get stuff past that internal censor sometimes. As a writer, I'm always trying. But even if it's the truth (ESPECIALLY if it's the truth) it's difficult to write things you know would hurt the people you love. And ever since my sisters had children it seems like the rules have changed, I REALLY have to watch what I say because anything can be taken out of context to imply I think they're bad mothers . . . even when it has nothing to do with the kids, nothing to do with them even, and I mean it as a compliment. Strange creatures, these mothers. I think something happens during the act of giving birth, the part of the brain that used to joke and laugh and understand puns and metaphors gets zapped.
Anyway, now that I'm aware I can be found and people might read me, I'll have to try a little harder to post something interesting.
Mood: Surprised
Listening to: Don't Give Up On Us Baby, David Soul
Drinking: Water, straight up
Hair: messy
I know, it doesn't even make much sense to me :-) I guess I wanted a safe place of total anonimity where even my internal censor could let its hair down and just say whatever came to mind. It's hard to get stuff past that internal censor sometimes. As a writer, I'm always trying. But even if it's the truth (ESPECIALLY if it's the truth) it's difficult to write things you know would hurt the people you love. And ever since my sisters had children it seems like the rules have changed, I REALLY have to watch what I say because anything can be taken out of context to imply I think they're bad mothers . . . even when it has nothing to do with the kids, nothing to do with them even, and I mean it as a compliment. Strange creatures, these mothers. I think something happens during the act of giving birth, the part of the brain that used to joke and laugh and understand puns and metaphors gets zapped.
Anyway, now that I'm aware I can be found and people might read me, I'll have to try a little harder to post something interesting.
Mood: Surprised
Listening to: Don't Give Up On Us Baby, David Soul
Drinking: Water, straight up
Hair: messy
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
I Sooo Totally Suck at Blogging!
I'm not very good at keeping on top of this blogging situation. . . seems like I only make time when I really need to be doing something else.
Well, I AM the master of procrastination.
Anyway, tomorrow night I am going on a date with a guy I met online. We've exchanged a few email and he seems really nice, so hopefully when we meet up he'll turn out to be nice in person and not some weirdo.
That's my news for the day. Now, I must get back to work and end this procrastination for once and for all!
Mood: Excited
Listening to: Another One Bites the Dust, Queen
Drinking: hot chocolate
Hair: experimental
Well, I AM the master of procrastination.
Anyway, tomorrow night I am going on a date with a guy I met online. We've exchanged a few email and he seems really nice, so hopefully when we meet up he'll turn out to be nice in person and not some weirdo.
That's my news for the day. Now, I must get back to work and end this procrastination for once and for all!
Mood: Excited
Listening to: Another One Bites the Dust, Queen
Drinking: hot chocolate
Hair: experimental
Thursday, June 10, 2004
Healing through Art
Last night I went to a monthly poetry night at a local gallery with my sister. It was our first time and it was fabulous. The only place I ever feel I truly belong is in an artistic setting like that. I know the whole alienated artist thing is totally overdone (well, I don't know that really, but my best friend seems to think so and I trust her judgment) but I really do feel that way most of the time.
I'm so stereotypically ordinary in that way I guess. I feel angry and misunderstood except when I'm writing (and I don't mean crap like this or the articles I do for work, I'm talking about creating something)or when I'm surrounded by people who write or when I'm reading what others have written.
That's joy for me. That's happiness. That's where I belong. And when I get away from it and stuck out here in the world where people don't see metaphors in simple daily activities, where people don't scribble notes in the middle of a conversation, where people don't even read anymore, I get depressed and discouraged and I forget where it is I truly belong. I forget that world is out there.
That's why evenings out like last night are so important to enrich my mind and soul, to stimulate my brain, and keep me sane. These people exist. These people who understand me and know how I feel. I want so badly to surround myself with them and stay there.
Tomorrow I attend my first small fiction workshop with three other women. This forced me to look at my manuscript today and fire something off to the girls. . . it forced me to write something creative. WOW!! This is a good thing.
Things are truly looking up. I can stay on an even keel as long as I maintain some sort of regular contact with my peers and write something new. This is my goal. This is how I will heal myself and stay sane.
Mood: Spiritual
Listening to: Everything is Automatic, Matthew Good
I'm so stereotypically ordinary in that way I guess. I feel angry and misunderstood except when I'm writing (and I don't mean crap like this or the articles I do for work, I'm talking about creating something)or when I'm surrounded by people who write or when I'm reading what others have written.
That's joy for me. That's happiness. That's where I belong. And when I get away from it and stuck out here in the world where people don't see metaphors in simple daily activities, where people don't scribble notes in the middle of a conversation, where people don't even read anymore, I get depressed and discouraged and I forget where it is I truly belong. I forget that world is out there.
That's why evenings out like last night are so important to enrich my mind and soul, to stimulate my brain, and keep me sane. These people exist. These people who understand me and know how I feel. I want so badly to surround myself with them and stay there.
Tomorrow I attend my first small fiction workshop with three other women. This forced me to look at my manuscript today and fire something off to the girls. . . it forced me to write something creative. WOW!! This is a good thing.
Things are truly looking up. I can stay on an even keel as long as I maintain some sort of regular contact with my peers and write something new. This is my goal. This is how I will heal myself and stay sane.
Mood: Spiritual
Listening to: Everything is Automatic, Matthew Good
Monday, June 07, 2004
A New Week Dawns . . .
And I'm in better spirits! I'm a happy camper. Sometimes I wonder about mental illness, hormonal deficiencies, etc. Bi-polar and manic depressive are just a couple of terms I toss around. My mood swings are pretty wicked. I'll be down in the dumps, the lowest of low every day for a month and then suddenly I'm singing and dancing and floating on a cloud. The happiness might last six weeks and then I'll get angry. And I'm not talking about a little flash of anger that pops in unexpectedly and disappears just as suddenly as it came. I'm talking about a slow burn, a deep simmer, where I travel around for weeks on the brink of catastrophic explosion.
I think these mood shifts might have something to do with my cycle . . . but I don't know. The moods come and go and last for such a long time, that mental illness sometimes seems to be the more logical answer. It's certainly way beyond a little PMS.
At any rate, this week I'm out of the dumps and into the high spirits. This is a week where I'll work tons and do laundry and exercise religiously and finish books and go places and do things . . . and all with a big grin. Why can't every week be like this one? I don't know.
All I know is that I plan to enjoy this brief respite to the fullest. Have a great week! I know I'm going to.
Mood: Soaring? Crazy? Fucked if I know the difference
Listening to: Soul Surrender, Mike Echlin
Drinking: the usual
Hair: Getting long
I think these mood shifts might have something to do with my cycle . . . but I don't know. The moods come and go and last for such a long time, that mental illness sometimes seems to be the more logical answer. It's certainly way beyond a little PMS.
At any rate, this week I'm out of the dumps and into the high spirits. This is a week where I'll work tons and do laundry and exercise religiously and finish books and go places and do things . . . and all with a big grin. Why can't every week be like this one? I don't know.
All I know is that I plan to enjoy this brief respite to the fullest. Have a great week! I know I'm going to.
Mood: Soaring? Crazy? Fucked if I know the difference
Listening to: Soul Surrender, Mike Echlin
Drinking: the usual
Hair: Getting long
Saturday, June 05, 2004
Throes of Arthritis
I am sad. My body betrays me every day. I am not who people think I am. I am sad. I am a foreigner in this land and nobody knows my name. I am only happy in the world of my dreams where celebrity guest stars pop in just to say "Hi!" like old friends and I am always smiling. In dreams I have the brightest skin, hair and eyes. In dreams I feel light, weightless . . . and how I dance. In my dreams it doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts.
Mood: Suffering
Drinking: Not enough
Listening To: Tom Sawyer, Rush
Hair: Limp
Mood: Suffering
Drinking: Not enough
Listening To: Tom Sawyer, Rush
Hair: Limp
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
The Birthday Blues
I think I may have a case of the birthday blues. In a couple of weeks I will be turning 35, which is one of those milestone years. I'm saying goodbye to my early 30's and entering the new era of my late 30's, which as we all know is followed by the 40's. In five years I'm going to be 40!! That freaks me out. It gives new meaning to the phrase, "What have you been doing all your life?"
I think I'm a little depressed about this. Well, no doubt about it, I AM depressed and have been for a couple of weeks, but I think maybe my impending birthday may be the cause. . . or it could be the gloom and doom rainy weather. More likely, a healthy combination of each.
I'm almost 40 and I've accomplished pretty much nothing. I live at home with my parents. I own nothing. I have no friends outside of family really. I'm the lowest paid person at my work. I make very little and I really don't like my job. I don't have a boyfriend or a car or a house or any of that stuff I should have by now. I have a dog who I'll have to abandon when I'm finally able to leave this place and go out on my own. This breaks my heart.
I don't know, when you're in your twenties you think of all that you will have accomplished and experienced by the time you turn 40 and you envision how your life will be then and this is not anywhere near what I ever had in mind. It's all pretty much the same, nothing changes.
I need to make some changes. I need to embrace my life and start living it. I don't want to be in the same place I am now when I'm 40. I'm ready for something real.
Mood: Kinda down
Listening to: Your Love, The Outfield
Drinking: tea
Hair: who cares?
I think I'm a little depressed about this. Well, no doubt about it, I AM depressed and have been for a couple of weeks, but I think maybe my impending birthday may be the cause. . . or it could be the gloom and doom rainy weather. More likely, a healthy combination of each.
I'm almost 40 and I've accomplished pretty much nothing. I live at home with my parents. I own nothing. I have no friends outside of family really. I'm the lowest paid person at my work. I make very little and I really don't like my job. I don't have a boyfriend or a car or a house or any of that stuff I should have by now. I have a dog who I'll have to abandon when I'm finally able to leave this place and go out on my own. This breaks my heart.
I don't know, when you're in your twenties you think of all that you will have accomplished and experienced by the time you turn 40 and you envision how your life will be then and this is not anywhere near what I ever had in mind. It's all pretty much the same, nothing changes.
I need to make some changes. I need to embrace my life and start living it. I don't want to be in the same place I am now when I'm 40. I'm ready for something real.
Mood: Kinda down
Listening to: Your Love, The Outfield
Drinking: tea
Hair: who cares?
Tuesday, June 01, 2004
The Dating Dilemma . . . Again!
I've been reading a lot of blogs by singles who say dating is tough.
One woman says it's tough because young guys usually want kids of their own (and she is done in that department) while older guys usually have older children and don't want to have anything to do with younger ones anymore (hers are toddlers.)
Then there's a single father who has pretty much given up on the dating scene because he says most women either don't want anything to do with him because he has custody of his kids or else they become jealous of his kids and the relationship ends badly. His kids are top priority.
Okay. Then there's me. I don't have kids. I'm pretty sure I don't want kids, but I wouldn't rule them out completely with the right young guy, (although time is growing short). In a perfect world, I'd like to date someone who doesn't have them and doesn't want them. . . which is almost impossible. So, as strange as it may sound, ideally I'm looking for that young single dad who already has kids and doesn't want anymore.
You see, I actually like kids. But I don't want to be a mother. So, with a single dad I get to enjoy the kids, love the kids, co-parent the kids to a certain extent, but I don't have to take on the complete motherhood package. That suits me fine.
I've been in a couple of relationships with guys who had kids, who either had or shared custody so the kids were around a lot. One family was boys, the other girls, both teenaged. Both were too soon after the marriage break up, but hindsight is always 20/20, right? I got along well with the boys, but the girls didn't like me (they didn't like any woman their dad had brought home). In still another relationship, the child was a toddler, a little girl. This was easier, toddlers are cool.
But, in my somewhat limited experience, it's not the kids keeping these guys from great relationships, it's the relationship with their exes. In all these cases, the relationship with the ex was rocky at best, and downright homicidal maniac at worst.
But maybe I don't represent the norm. . . that's always a possibility ;-)
Mood: Ponderous
Listening to: Eyes of a Stranger, The Payolas
Drinking: Boiled tea (it'll drive you crazy)
Hair: Getting way out of hand!
One woman says it's tough because young guys usually want kids of their own (and she is done in that department) while older guys usually have older children and don't want to have anything to do with younger ones anymore (hers are toddlers.)
Then there's a single father who has pretty much given up on the dating scene because he says most women either don't want anything to do with him because he has custody of his kids or else they become jealous of his kids and the relationship ends badly. His kids are top priority.
Okay. Then there's me. I don't have kids. I'm pretty sure I don't want kids, but I wouldn't rule them out completely with the right young guy, (although time is growing short). In a perfect world, I'd like to date someone who doesn't have them and doesn't want them. . . which is almost impossible. So, as strange as it may sound, ideally I'm looking for that young single dad who already has kids and doesn't want anymore.
You see, I actually like kids. But I don't want to be a mother. So, with a single dad I get to enjoy the kids, love the kids, co-parent the kids to a certain extent, but I don't have to take on the complete motherhood package. That suits me fine.
I've been in a couple of relationships with guys who had kids, who either had or shared custody so the kids were around a lot. One family was boys, the other girls, both teenaged. Both were too soon after the marriage break up, but hindsight is always 20/20, right? I got along well with the boys, but the girls didn't like me (they didn't like any woman their dad had brought home). In still another relationship, the child was a toddler, a little girl. This was easier, toddlers are cool.
But, in my somewhat limited experience, it's not the kids keeping these guys from great relationships, it's the relationship with their exes. In all these cases, the relationship with the ex was rocky at best, and downright homicidal maniac at worst.
But maybe I don't represent the norm. . . that's always a possibility ;-)
Mood: Ponderous
Listening to: Eyes of a Stranger, The Payolas
Drinking: Boiled tea (it'll drive you crazy)
Hair: Getting way out of hand!
Monday, May 31, 2004
Grabbing the Oars
For a little over a month I've been drifting. First let me backtrack, I started this year with an astonishing amount of zest and purpose. I was determined to work smarter, less. And until last month I was doing really well, on top of things more or less, working smarter, not harder.
Then I went to the Writers' Federation Annual General Meeting one weekend and the next weekend I went to Moncton to interview an author. The effect has been devastating. I've drifted back into my old habits -- working day and night, unfocused, without vision and drive. And the result is STRESS! I'm stressed because I feel so out of control. And when I'm stressed, my fuse gets really short and I start going off for no reason.
In the course of one month I've gone from a peaceful in control almost zen-like demeanor to a completely out of control homicidal maniac -- it ain't pretty, but I'm not lying.
So, my goal for this day is to reach out and grab those oars floating around me and begin to steer the boat again. Today, I will accomplish something, I will finish at least one task. I will take some time for me to exercise. I will cook. I will work no more than 8 hours at my job. I will, I will, I will.
I've already begun :-)
Mood: Hopeful
Listening to: Saulisbury Hill, Peter Gabriel
Drinking: tea with 2%
Hair: light brown
Then I went to the Writers' Federation Annual General Meeting one weekend and the next weekend I went to Moncton to interview an author. The effect has been devastating. I've drifted back into my old habits -- working day and night, unfocused, without vision and drive. And the result is STRESS! I'm stressed because I feel so out of control. And when I'm stressed, my fuse gets really short and I start going off for no reason.
In the course of one month I've gone from a peaceful in control almost zen-like demeanor to a completely out of control homicidal maniac -- it ain't pretty, but I'm not lying.
So, my goal for this day is to reach out and grab those oars floating around me and begin to steer the boat again. Today, I will accomplish something, I will finish at least one task. I will take some time for me to exercise. I will cook. I will work no more than 8 hours at my job. I will, I will, I will.
I've already begun :-)
Mood: Hopeful
Listening to: Saulisbury Hill, Peter Gabriel
Drinking: tea with 2%
Hair: light brown
Sunday, May 30, 2004
Madness & Poetry
There is something very calming about reading poetry aloud.
A couple of nights ago at the height of a raging hormonal PMS fit, my sister dared to utter those dirty little words that always follow, "No offence but . . . "
". . . you're not a mother. You can't understand."
When I'm not a hormonal mess and in completely good spirits this drives me nuts. Not because it isn't true, because it is. I am not a mother so I don't know what it's like, how it feels.
I'm also not a homicidal maniac, a pubescent boy, a victim of rape, or a holocaust survivor. I can't understand what any of those things feel like either.
The thing that drives me absolutely mad when my sisters play the "you're not a mother" card is that somehow it implies I'm incapable of feeling a love that strong.
But all of this is neither here nor there, the point of this post is the poetry. After my sister uttered the hateful words, I couldn't sleep for crying (yes I'll admit, mostly due to the hormonal battle being fought inside me. Rarely have I sobbed so loud and with such gusto. It was my Oscar worthy crying scene.
I worked myself up into such a state, only reading poetry aloud could calm me.
I read mostly P.K. Paige and some Allan Cooper. Soon, I was smiling and wistful. Poetry does that. I highly recommend it when you've got the blues. Stereotypically, all poets are mad, but maybe the relationship between poetry and madness is really as the cure for madness rather than created by madness.
Something to think about.
I've just learned that there will be a poetry workshop in August. I think I should take it, learn how to express myself in poems if such a thing can be taught.
Mood: Lazy
Listening to: Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a theme by Paganini
Drinking: had a timmy's earlier, extra large, double cream
Hair: brown and straight
A couple of nights ago at the height of a raging hormonal PMS fit, my sister dared to utter those dirty little words that always follow, "No offence but . . . "
". . . you're not a mother. You can't understand."
When I'm not a hormonal mess and in completely good spirits this drives me nuts. Not because it isn't true, because it is. I am not a mother so I don't know what it's like, how it feels.
I'm also not a homicidal maniac, a pubescent boy, a victim of rape, or a holocaust survivor. I can't understand what any of those things feel like either.
The thing that drives me absolutely mad when my sisters play the "you're not a mother" card is that somehow it implies I'm incapable of feeling a love that strong.
But all of this is neither here nor there, the point of this post is the poetry. After my sister uttered the hateful words, I couldn't sleep for crying (yes I'll admit, mostly due to the hormonal battle being fought inside me. Rarely have I sobbed so loud and with such gusto. It was my Oscar worthy crying scene.
I worked myself up into such a state, only reading poetry aloud could calm me.
I read mostly P.K. Paige and some Allan Cooper. Soon, I was smiling and wistful. Poetry does that. I highly recommend it when you've got the blues. Stereotypically, all poets are mad, but maybe the relationship between poetry and madness is really as the cure for madness rather than created by madness.
Something to think about.
I've just learned that there will be a poetry workshop in August. I think I should take it, learn how to express myself in poems if such a thing can be taught.
Mood: Lazy
Listening to: Rachmaninoff's Rhapsody on a theme by Paganini
Drinking: had a timmy's earlier, extra large, double cream
Hair: brown and straight
Saturday, April 17, 2004
Fiddler's Moon
I'm in the banquet room at the Rodd, sitting off by myself, alone, because I can't trust my emotion not to give way in front of the others. Matilda Murdoch is playing the fiddle. I'm transported back in time to 1600's Ireland. I'm moved to tears. I may have to leave. I feel heart ache, starvation, death -- I feel it in my very core. These are my people. I'm Irish and for the first time I feel it. I really feel it. Like I'm at a wedding, like we could all break out in a reel or jig. Like I could be dressed in a hoop skirt and tight bodice. It's sadness. It's pain. It runs in my blood. It's pure beauty.
This is love.
This is death.
This is life.
Mood: Out of space and time
Drinking: Merlot & Bud Light (not simultaneously)
Listening To: Matilda Murdoch on the fiddle . . . Oh danny boy
Hair: Done up real purty like
This is love.
This is death.
This is life.
Mood: Out of space and time
Drinking: Merlot & Bud Light (not simultaneously)
Listening To: Matilda Murdoch on the fiddle . . . Oh danny boy
Hair: Done up real purty like
Saturday, April 10, 2004
Irrational thoughts
I have this completely irrational fear that someone is watching me . . . that I'll turn around and a strange man will be standing there . . . that he'll have snuck into the house or he'll appear in the picture window outside standing on the deck . . .
It's like a horror movie in my mind. I need to put the thought out of my head . . . or put Jon Bon Jovi into the picture . . . Yeah . . . Bon Jovi . . . that's the ticket! :-)
Mood: Leery
Drinking: just tea, believe it or not
Listening To: Brother Down, Sam Roberts
Hair: frazzled
It's like a horror movie in my mind. I need to put the thought out of my head . . . or put Jon Bon Jovi into the picture . . . Yeah . . . Bon Jovi . . . that's the ticket! :-)
Mood: Leery
Drinking: just tea, believe it or not
Listening To: Brother Down, Sam Roberts
Hair: frazzled
Friday, April 02, 2004
On the subject of love . . .
I no longer believe.
That is such a difficult revelation for me to make. I don’t mean to you, the unknown masses who have decided to follow my madness. I mean it’s very difficult for me to admit this to myself. No matter what has happened or how destroyed I’ve ended up, deep in my heart I always believed in love. It’s not even fully correct to say I no longer believe . . . I know people who are in love. I believe in the love of others. I even believe I can fall in love. I’d go so far as to say I believe a man could fall in love with me. But that’s where it ends. I can’t believe I will fall in love with a man who falls in love with me simultaneously and equally. THAT is impossible!
And I hate being cynical! But am I being cynical? Or am I just being realistic?
I am almost 35 years old and I’ve been in love. I’ve also been in relationships with men I cared about but didn’t love. I hurt these men. It was never my intention to break any hearts, but yes I’ve destroyed a few along the way. Of course, I have also had my own heart broken. These things happen to everyone. Generally, it’s all a miscalculation, a big mistake. Nobody intends for anyone to get hurt. It happens when you finally realize and are willing to admit that you can never love this person you’re hanging out with, no matter how long you stick around and try to make it happen. You can’t force love. Clarity happens in a random instant. Hearts get broken. Such is life.
If all my suffering came at the expense of the standard broken heart, perhaps I would still believe. But I am one of a few (at least I believe the experience is limited to a few, correct me if I’m wrong) unfortunate souls who have the great misfortune of falling deeply and madly in love with the wrong person. That isn’t the same as not being the right person. I have also been in love with men who turned out to not be the right person for me. But only one time have I fallen in with the wrong person.
It’s a terribly embarrassing story in which I come off as a complete idiot. But you see that’s the thing . . . I am not a complete idiot. I am not stupid. I am actually quite intelligent. However, I will admit that I was naïve. Before I met the wrong man, I really didn’t believe evil could touch my life. Evil happened to other people. It happened to people on television, people in the newspapers, strangers I would never meet. Furthermore, if Evil ever decided to visit me I would recognize it because it would be wearing a mask, waving a gun, lunging at me with a knife, ripping my clothes off, or any number of violent acts. It wouldn’t be the face of someone I knew. It wouldn’t be someone who had earned my trust. It certainly wouldn’t be anyone I loved. I really believed that no matter how badly a person behaved, deep down inside lurked a little bit of goodness which would flourish if coaxed and overcome the bad. Yes, SIGH I was naïve.
But even way back then, despite being naïve, I was skeptical. Before I started dating the wrong man, I knew him. He wasn’t a stranger. Having been acquainted with him most of my life; I had a pretty good idea going into the first date that he wasn’t the right man for me. So why did I go out with him in the first place? Two reasons. I was bored and needed a diversion. He was going through what I thought was a rough time in his life and I pitied him. I really didn’t think it would go beyond one night. I wasn’t expecting Evil behind the pitiful face of someone I knew.
I was shocked at first when he began to pursue me. I tried to break it to him gently that I just didn’t think we would ever be a good match. I admired his persistence. I tried being a little less subtle and gave it to him straight. He kept up his courtship. I was flattered. By and by, I started to see that we did have some things in common. I enjoyed his company. He was fun to be around. Months flew by and I started to let my guard down, to open myself up to the possibilities. More months passed and I found myself falling in love. He spent that entire time proving to me that he was the right man for me. He devoted all his time to proving that he loved me, that he could be trusted with my love, we were made for each other. I never kept my skepticism a secret. He reassured me every day that I didn’t need it anymore.
In hindsight, it seems as if the very moment when I accepted everything he wanted me so desperately to believe and opened my heart to him, was the exact moment he chose to tell me he was wrong. Memory can be selective. If you have never encountered anyone like the wrong guy, you might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not. How can I be so sure? Because it happened more than once.
Here’s the part where I start coming off as really stupid. Unless of course you thought I went through that part of the story already when I started dating a guy I didn’t think could ever be my Mr. Right. Have I mentioned how naïve I was at that time in my life?
The first time we broke up, he had a change of heart within a few days. He begged for forgiveness and I believed he was sincere. The next time it lasted for a several weeks. The time after that lasted several months and we both dated other people while we were apart. Then we separated for over a year without any contact at all. He moved to another area. The last time we had been broken up for over two years when he came back into my life. Intellectually, I still wonder how I let this happen to me. Emotionally, I was a train-wreck early on into the roller coaster ride. Logically, none of it made any sense to me. I think that’s why he was able to keep coming back and continue to emotionally abuse me. I kept looking for a logical solution. I couldn’t accept that there mightn’t be one. I never once thought that he might have never cared for me at all and just enjoyed playing games with me because it made him feel god-like and powerful. I couldn’t believe he never felt any of the same feelings I had, he only pretended because it was necessary to the game. I couldn’t think any of those things because it would have required me to believe I had let Evil into life, the wrong guy was a monster. And that was absurd!
He had been out of my life for over two years. Another completely different relationship had failed on me and I had recovered. I was at a happy stage in my life. I was starting to really like the woman I saw in the mirror every day. When he showed back up, I would not give him the time of day. At that point I was beyond skeptical. Still, he showed up in my life every day, persistent bastard. He talked a new kind of talk. He wasn’t spouting the same old lines I had heard a hundred times before. He apologized for the past. And he didn’t do it in a general way, he was very specific. For months and months he was all about remember the time I did this to hurt you and you said that and you were right and this was the way I was feeling then . . . and God help me, he said all the right things. He was so sincere and genuine. He seemed so different and more mature. I still wasn’t giving him the time of day much, but I was certainly listening. Finally, he had provided me with the logical explanation for all the pain, suffering and grief.
Still, I knew his patterns. I knew he could change in an instant and revert into his former self. I didn’t trust he had really changed. He had to prove himself. The wrong guy I knew couldn’t get past a couple of months without vile and destructive behavior. Four months tops. If he hadn’t really changed, he could never pretend for six or eight months. It just wasn’t possible.
Ten months passed. Almost a year of peace and bliss; harmony and logical explanations. I dared to believe he was genuine.
I dared to believe in love, and he was lying.
He lied. The genuine logical right guy literally vanished right before my eyes without any explanation. When the wrong guy emerged this time, even that was different. He tossed me aside with less feeling than if I was a bug under his shoe. I have never encountered anyone before or since who was so cold and deliberate. With level eyes and a steady wave of his hand he simply said he didn’t love me and he didn’t want to marry me. End of story. There was no discussion. The topic wasn’t open for discussion or debate.
This is the only jaw dropping moment I’ve ever experienced. At that point in the relationship, this was totally unexpected. It floored me.
I was another year and a half rehashing everything in my mind before I could finally forgive myself and accept that some people are just here for the sport of hurting others. Several years went by and I heard about other women put through the same sort of emotional drills. One minute the wrong guy was in love and getting married, the next he had left some girl crying in a bar. I wanted to reach out and warn those innocent victims, but I knew they would never listen. I wouldn’t have listened. He is nothing if charismatic and convincing. I took comfort in the knowledge that he would never be able to hurt me again. I gained back my personal power and strength from this knowledge.
Of course, this isn’t to say he hasn’t tried. He tries every few years. He calls to test the water. Is she weak and ripe or strong and unavailable? I’m strong. Someday, he will call for the last time. Maybe I’ve heard the last of him now.
When I went into this thing, I was a naïve young woman who believed love conquered all things. Nothing in the world mattered, as long as there was love. It was a very romantic thought. Sometimes, I wish I could think like that again. Most times I feel safer knowing I will never think like that again.
So no, I don’t believe in love anymore. That is to say, I don’t believe in the fairy tale. I don’t know if that’s a terrible thing or a blessing. It simply is.
Mood: Contemplative
Drinking: King Cole Tea with milk
Listening To: Complicated, Avril Lavigne
Hair: Brassy blonde
That is such a difficult revelation for me to make. I don’t mean to you, the unknown masses who have decided to follow my madness. I mean it’s very difficult for me to admit this to myself. No matter what has happened or how destroyed I’ve ended up, deep in my heart I always believed in love. It’s not even fully correct to say I no longer believe . . . I know people who are in love. I believe in the love of others. I even believe I can fall in love. I’d go so far as to say I believe a man could fall in love with me. But that’s where it ends. I can’t believe I will fall in love with a man who falls in love with me simultaneously and equally. THAT is impossible!
And I hate being cynical! But am I being cynical? Or am I just being realistic?
I am almost 35 years old and I’ve been in love. I’ve also been in relationships with men I cared about but didn’t love. I hurt these men. It was never my intention to break any hearts, but yes I’ve destroyed a few along the way. Of course, I have also had my own heart broken. These things happen to everyone. Generally, it’s all a miscalculation, a big mistake. Nobody intends for anyone to get hurt. It happens when you finally realize and are willing to admit that you can never love this person you’re hanging out with, no matter how long you stick around and try to make it happen. You can’t force love. Clarity happens in a random instant. Hearts get broken. Such is life.
If all my suffering came at the expense of the standard broken heart, perhaps I would still believe. But I am one of a few (at least I believe the experience is limited to a few, correct me if I’m wrong) unfortunate souls who have the great misfortune of falling deeply and madly in love with the wrong person. That isn’t the same as not being the right person. I have also been in love with men who turned out to not be the right person for me. But only one time have I fallen in with the wrong person.
It’s a terribly embarrassing story in which I come off as a complete idiot. But you see that’s the thing . . . I am not a complete idiot. I am not stupid. I am actually quite intelligent. However, I will admit that I was naïve. Before I met the wrong man, I really didn’t believe evil could touch my life. Evil happened to other people. It happened to people on television, people in the newspapers, strangers I would never meet. Furthermore, if Evil ever decided to visit me I would recognize it because it would be wearing a mask, waving a gun, lunging at me with a knife, ripping my clothes off, or any number of violent acts. It wouldn’t be the face of someone I knew. It wouldn’t be someone who had earned my trust. It certainly wouldn’t be anyone I loved. I really believed that no matter how badly a person behaved, deep down inside lurked a little bit of goodness which would flourish if coaxed and overcome the bad. Yes, SIGH I was naïve.
But even way back then, despite being naïve, I was skeptical. Before I started dating the wrong man, I knew him. He wasn’t a stranger. Having been acquainted with him most of my life; I had a pretty good idea going into the first date that he wasn’t the right man for me. So why did I go out with him in the first place? Two reasons. I was bored and needed a diversion. He was going through what I thought was a rough time in his life and I pitied him. I really didn’t think it would go beyond one night. I wasn’t expecting Evil behind the pitiful face of someone I knew.
I was shocked at first when he began to pursue me. I tried to break it to him gently that I just didn’t think we would ever be a good match. I admired his persistence. I tried being a little less subtle and gave it to him straight. He kept up his courtship. I was flattered. By and by, I started to see that we did have some things in common. I enjoyed his company. He was fun to be around. Months flew by and I started to let my guard down, to open myself up to the possibilities. More months passed and I found myself falling in love. He spent that entire time proving to me that he was the right man for me. He devoted all his time to proving that he loved me, that he could be trusted with my love, we were made for each other. I never kept my skepticism a secret. He reassured me every day that I didn’t need it anymore.
In hindsight, it seems as if the very moment when I accepted everything he wanted me so desperately to believe and opened my heart to him, was the exact moment he chose to tell me he was wrong. Memory can be selective. If you have never encountered anyone like the wrong guy, you might think I’m exaggerating. I’m not. How can I be so sure? Because it happened more than once.
Here’s the part where I start coming off as really stupid. Unless of course you thought I went through that part of the story already when I started dating a guy I didn’t think could ever be my Mr. Right. Have I mentioned how naïve I was at that time in my life?
The first time we broke up, he had a change of heart within a few days. He begged for forgiveness and I believed he was sincere. The next time it lasted for a several weeks. The time after that lasted several months and we both dated other people while we were apart. Then we separated for over a year without any contact at all. He moved to another area. The last time we had been broken up for over two years when he came back into my life. Intellectually, I still wonder how I let this happen to me. Emotionally, I was a train-wreck early on into the roller coaster ride. Logically, none of it made any sense to me. I think that’s why he was able to keep coming back and continue to emotionally abuse me. I kept looking for a logical solution. I couldn’t accept that there mightn’t be one. I never once thought that he might have never cared for me at all and just enjoyed playing games with me because it made him feel god-like and powerful. I couldn’t believe he never felt any of the same feelings I had, he only pretended because it was necessary to the game. I couldn’t think any of those things because it would have required me to believe I had let Evil into life, the wrong guy was a monster. And that was absurd!
He had been out of my life for over two years. Another completely different relationship had failed on me and I had recovered. I was at a happy stage in my life. I was starting to really like the woman I saw in the mirror every day. When he showed back up, I would not give him the time of day. At that point I was beyond skeptical. Still, he showed up in my life every day, persistent bastard. He talked a new kind of talk. He wasn’t spouting the same old lines I had heard a hundred times before. He apologized for the past. And he didn’t do it in a general way, he was very specific. For months and months he was all about remember the time I did this to hurt you and you said that and you were right and this was the way I was feeling then . . . and God help me, he said all the right things. He was so sincere and genuine. He seemed so different and more mature. I still wasn’t giving him the time of day much, but I was certainly listening. Finally, he had provided me with the logical explanation for all the pain, suffering and grief.
Still, I knew his patterns. I knew he could change in an instant and revert into his former self. I didn’t trust he had really changed. He had to prove himself. The wrong guy I knew couldn’t get past a couple of months without vile and destructive behavior. Four months tops. If he hadn’t really changed, he could never pretend for six or eight months. It just wasn’t possible.
Ten months passed. Almost a year of peace and bliss; harmony and logical explanations. I dared to believe he was genuine.
I dared to believe in love, and he was lying.
He lied. The genuine logical right guy literally vanished right before my eyes without any explanation. When the wrong guy emerged this time, even that was different. He tossed me aside with less feeling than if I was a bug under his shoe. I have never encountered anyone before or since who was so cold and deliberate. With level eyes and a steady wave of his hand he simply said he didn’t love me and he didn’t want to marry me. End of story. There was no discussion. The topic wasn’t open for discussion or debate.
This is the only jaw dropping moment I’ve ever experienced. At that point in the relationship, this was totally unexpected. It floored me.
I was another year and a half rehashing everything in my mind before I could finally forgive myself and accept that some people are just here for the sport of hurting others. Several years went by and I heard about other women put through the same sort of emotional drills. One minute the wrong guy was in love and getting married, the next he had left some girl crying in a bar. I wanted to reach out and warn those innocent victims, but I knew they would never listen. I wouldn’t have listened. He is nothing if charismatic and convincing. I took comfort in the knowledge that he would never be able to hurt me again. I gained back my personal power and strength from this knowledge.
Of course, this isn’t to say he hasn’t tried. He tries every few years. He calls to test the water. Is she weak and ripe or strong and unavailable? I’m strong. Someday, he will call for the last time. Maybe I’ve heard the last of him now.
When I went into this thing, I was a naïve young woman who believed love conquered all things. Nothing in the world mattered, as long as there was love. It was a very romantic thought. Sometimes, I wish I could think like that again. Most times I feel safer knowing I will never think like that again.
So no, I don’t believe in love anymore. That is to say, I don’t believe in the fairy tale. I don’t know if that’s a terrible thing or a blessing. It simply is.
Mood: Contemplative
Drinking: King Cole Tea with milk
Listening To: Complicated, Avril Lavigne
Hair: Brassy blonde
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