The Last Summer

It was the ultimate loner summer of insomnia, deja vu, anxiety, two boyfriends, a PEI vacation, the lady in black and a beauty pageant. The summer following my high school graduation I lived alone in my parents house while they summered with the Coughlan clan at the camp. I had been staying alone most summers for a few years then, but that summer they REALLY stayed away. The lawn needed haying in its neglect. The house looked abandoned, curtains drawn, no sign of life. In the early dawn I would often see a fox, coyote, moose or deer on the front lawn as if the lawn were part of the woods. Rabbits ran wild about the place. Back then we didn't have any close neighbours, so if I was being quiet there was a big quiet zone and the critters roamed freely.

I didn't have any girlfriends that summer. No steady girl group to hang with. I guess because we were all transitioning into new lives, university and beyond. But I've always gone into periods of being the loner anyway, and this was one of those.

Ronnie and I broke up before graduation. We went to prom and grad things together because it had been planned and because my mother disapproved of my new boyfriend, the school disapproved of my new boyfriend (I doubt he would've been permitted on the property for prom, when he showed up that night to see me in my dress the principal gave me 10 minutes to convince him to leave peacefully before he called the cops) . . . everyone disapproved of my new boyfriend . . . so, if I wanted to go to any of my grad activities I either had to go alone or go with Ronnie. I chose Ronnie, and my new boyfriend was okay with that. He was actually a pretty great guy, though I was the only one who realised that then, and even I didn't realise the full extent of how great he truly could be.

At the end of summer I was moving to Toronto to study journalism at Ryerson. A helluva long way from Barnettville for this country bumpkin. Stressful times indeed as the anxiety mounted about the move. I had the recurring nightmare about the Lady in Black. Insomnia where I couldn't sleep for weeks. Deja vu episodes that would last so long I worried it would never end, that I'd be one step ahead of everybody for the rest of my life.

Following a weekend getaway to PEI that I was forbidden by my parents to take, where I was suspended over the ocean, held out over the side of the ferry somewhere during the middle of the ride, by four drunken and stupidly high idiots, where I discovered I had nothing in common with any of the girls in my new boyfriend's circle, where I earned the wrath of these girls just by my desire to stay up past midnight . . . I started seeing Ronnie again, without telling my new boyfriend.

I was allowed to see Ronnie. He was allowed to stay with me in my big lonely house. Being with Ronnie was easy and natural and had been the norm for many years. I really liked the other guy, but it was a difficult transition to his life, his friends, my mother's refusal to acknowledge his existence and with Toronto looming at the end of summer where I would have to leave him anyway. Being with Ronnie was comfortable. He was my old pair of slippers. He was the one moving me to Toronto in the fall, moving me into his aunt's house. And he pursued me that summer like he never had before.

It was shitty business really. My boyfriend would drop me off at the edge of my driveway, abiding by my parents' rule to not enter the dooryard even when they weren't there (everyone hated him, but he was a man of character), and Ronnie's car would be parked on the back lawn just out of sight (he loved me, but I sorely lacked his character). Ronnie'd be asleep on the couch or in my bed, waiting for me to come home. I think he got off a little on the excitement of sneaking around, having an affair of sorts. Of course, I wasn't having sex with the new boyfriend, I suspect he might've been more territorial if the new relationship had evolved that far, but at this point I was still his virgin princess. I actually never had sex with the new boyfriend, ever. He's since said he regretted that. I don't really do regrets, but if I did that would rank with me too. In my next life I'm sleeping with everyone . . . and marrying them! I'm going to take those things way less seriously . . . in my next life.

Anyway, the point of all this is to hopefully show what kind of a wreck I was that last summer, practically orphaned except for scorn and crazy ultimatums, sleep deprived, stressed, carrying on a secret affair, getting ready for the biggest life change to befall me, barely 18 years old . . . and into the midst of all this chaos, Rita calls. My high school English teacher. The one who entered me into the district finals for public speaking without having heard my speech that she'd already awarded the highest grade in the class. The same teacher who gave me perfect marks for essays and stories despite glaring grammar and spelling mistakes . . . I might've been failing Math, Calculus and Computer Science miserably but there was no way I wouldn't get into whatever English-related program I wanted, (provided I managed the miracle of graduation) not on Rita's watch. Of course it was rather shocking to learn I didn't walk on water once I got there, but still, I might not have gotten anywhere without a little help and belief on Rita's part that I could and would survive once I got in. Certainly nobody else believed in me so consistently and blindly.

So, when Rita called I was inclined to listen. She was on the organising committee of the local beauty pageant. They needed young girls. She thought I'd be perfect. OH THE HORROR!! I managed somehow to escape high school without once getting sucked into the beauty pageant that got so many others, never letting my name stand in the nominating process. I thought I had escaped forever. Is there anything worse than parading around in a pageant? I thought not. I said no. I said no quite firmly. And then I said no again. But she kept calling back. They didn't have enough girls. The event was in jeopardy. It wouldn't take that much time. I still said no. But she wore me down, chipped away and chipped away until I couldn't argue anymore and I said I'd do it.

By the time I agreed, rehearsals had been going on for awhile. It became rather apparent when I showed up at the next one that I did not belong. I strolled in 15 minutes late after struggling to get a ride hitch-hiking that morning, reeking of cigarettes, still half-asleep, hung-over, wearing my tattered old jeans, a faded tee and dirty sneakers. The other girls had all been in pageants before. They had their high heels with them to practice walking. Some of them had mothers with them to coach them on smiling and posture. So there I am, yawning, craving a cigarette, a cup of tea, learning to pivot in sneakers by watching how the other girls do it. They saved practising the talent part for last. I tried to sneak out but one of the organiser's saw me, generously offered that I could go first if I was in such a hurry, needed to be someplace else. I'm doing a speech, I said. Fine, she said, you can practice in front of the other girls. I didn't bring it with me, I said. Oh, she sighed, well you really need to practice here on the stage with the rest of the girls. I shrugged. Then Rita jumped in, said it would be fine, I'd be fine, and they let me leave.

I called Rita later that day and tried to quit again. She guilted me, she'd vouched for me afterall. I didn't want to let her down, but I missed the next practice. She couldn't possibly expect me to go into a pageant having not practiced I figured. Oh, but she did. There was to be a final practice on the morning of the show. 9 am sharp and I was to attend, ready to practice my speech. She enlisted my mother to make sure I got there. Rita would pick me up and bring me home, my mother was to make sure I was ready to go. What a friggin' nightmare! You see, the thing of it was I didn't actually have a speech. I had a vague sort of idea about what I wanted to do . . . if it came to that . . . but lord I never imagined it would come to that! I thought for sure I could get myself kicked out of the thing somehow.

The pageant was on a Saturday night at the Catholic Hall. Friday night I went to Blackville alone, hung out with some people, had drinks, some pills. It was daylight Saturday morning when I was walking home, coming through the field at the Brook Hill. I'm not sure where the new boyfriend was, where Ronnie was, why I was alone . . . I don't remember, but I was alone until the field. I noticed a couple of three-wheelers at the other end of the field by the woods, but couldn't see anyone around. I wasn't alarmed, knew who owned the machines, was caught up in my head, thinking about the f-ing pageant and the hellish day ahead of me, wondering at the time, whether I'd get any sleep at all or not. Plodding across the path through the field, my thoughts far away, when all of a sudden a hand grabbed my ankle and pulled my legs out from underneath me ...

Whoomph! In a second I'm on my back in the tall grass and someone's laughing at me. I recognise the voice and turn to see a guy I know laying beside me. He's howling like this is the funniest thing ever.

Fuck! You scared the shit outta me, I say. Saw you coming and hid, he giggles, everyone else is sleeping. I look around and see a couple more guys I know sleeping in the grass. Where you coming from, he asks. Blackville, I say. What was going on there, he wants to know. Nothing much, slow night, I shrug. And then he rolls over on top of me and starts kissing me. Whoa there! I say, Hold on, what's this all about?

I'm truly shocked. This is a very unexpected and rapid development. But I'm not afraid even though I'm pinned to the ground by this absolutely huge man, he's a friend, I know this guy . . . until he hisses something about me being fucked and then I see the look in his eyes and realise he's on acid. FUCK ME! He's kissing my neck and unbuttoning my blouse, pulling my breast out of my bra and all I can think is that I'll probably have f-ing hickeys for the pageant as I flail my arms around and grab another guys leg, beating at him to wake up and get this guy off me. The guy I'm waking is an even better friend, a guy who has defended me before. A guy I'm certain will help me out of this so I can go home. He wakes. Throws buddy off me and they get into it, which wakes the third guy. But as I pull myself together, it becomes apparent they are all on acid and drunk on wine and they're rapidly getting from the point of fighting over who gets to have me to sharing me evenly . . . FUCK ME! I've gone from one asshole to three in two minutes flat.

While they fight and stagger around ironing the details out I run from the field and I run all the way home. I'm going past Joyce and Gene's when I hear the three-wheelers start up. Still a quarter mile to my house. When I think of how fast I must've been going . . . wow, the shape I must've been in! With the three-wheelers coming down the road after me I run even faster. Getting into the house, getting the doors locked, just seconds before the three-wheelers scream into the dooryard. I sit on the floor in the hall in the centre of the house in a tiny space that can't be seen through a window, the only place in the whole house where I might hide from prying eyes, with my heart pounding in my chest, listening to them circle the house, looking in all the windows, taunting me to come out, looking for an easy way in without breaking glass . . . they may be high, may be drunk, may be ready to do unspeakable things to me, but still they don't want to harm Blaine's house and risk him shooting them . . . plus, they don't know for sure whether I'm here or not.

This lasts I don't know how long. They hoist each other up to look into the higher windows. Quite thorough. In the end, I think they leave only because they think I'm not in here. If they knew for sure I don't doubt they would break a window or bust a door. That's the kind of tripping they're doing. But eventually they leave. I don't move from my spot in the hall for several minutes after I hear the three-wheelers leave, afraid it is a trick, that one stayed behind. Then I creep from room to room checking out the windows to make sure I am alone. I go to my parent's room and climb into their bed, still fully clothed. I close my eyes and the door in the kitchen opens. My eyes spring wide and I hear steps coming toward the bedroom. I don't move, can't breathe. My mom peeks in, Why are you in my bed? Why aren't you up and ready? Rita will be here in a few minutes to pick you up.

I'm ready, I say and throw off the covers revealing a fully dressed though wrinkled and grass stained beauty queen contestant. Oh God! You can't wear that! Did you wear that out last night? Go change! So I do and while I am changing Rita arrives to pick me up for practice . . .

And I went and pivoted for all to see, but when it came time to practice talent I refused again, and again Rita reassured everyone that there would be a speech and it would be fine. But I could tell they were unconvinced. If Rita hadn't been so persistent about the whole thing I'm sure they would've tossed my ass out of that pageant that morning. But damn that woman and her unshakable belief that I could pull a god-damned speech out of my ass at any moment of my choosing! I went home after practice and finished the speech, granted it was one I had started earlier in the school year and never got to where I wanted it so I had a good idea of where I was going, practiced until I had it enough to perform, cleaned up for the beauty portion, got together dresses and things and for the first time realised I was going to be in a frigging pageant . . . on no sleep, no food, hung over, recently traumatized . . . that's the way to be competitive.

Pivoting in high heels for the first time did not go smoothly. I was not a graceful swan gliding across the stage. I didn't remember to smile. I couldn't get a proper hoop for my formalwear, so the Scarlett dress didn't fill out like it was supposed to but fell a little flat. All my hose ran. I flubbed my Q&A. I was upset that neither my new boyfriend nor Ronnie or any of my friends showed up to lend moral support. I always went to everyone else's stupid pageants! God, I even let one friend borrow a speech of mine . . . what a disaster that was! Shrinking into my seat, wishing to disappear, hoping nobody would notice me, as she screwed up and people all around me hissed, "That's not her speech! That's a Kellie Underhill speech!"

In their defence I don't think I actually asked anyone to come, right up until the end I truly believed I would get out of it. But my parents came, both of them, it was the only time my Dad ever saw me give a speech, which was the cause of much conversation in the years since. And there was at least one Grammie in the audience, and aunts and sisters and cousins and even the rare uncle . . . and in an odd twist, Marty (with his wife), who later never missed the opportunity to remark that was the night he fell in love with me when he saw me wearing my green dress . . . to which I always said I didn't think I wore a green dress that night, but whatever.

Darren MacDonald emceed. Darren, who I would later work with at CFAN, a young deejay then, earning his stripes, just starting out. The only part of the night that went well was the speech, the speech nobody had heard in practice, nobody had ever heard before. The thing about my speeches was that they were never really speeches, but more like monologues. They were entertaining for sure, funny sometimes, downright shocking usually, extremely theatrical . . . but not really a speech in the competitive oratorical sense. I don't think Toastmasters would stand for it, but Second City might've taken a passing look at me.

I don't remember much about this one. It was about the fear of public speaking I believe. I know I shook the podium, nearly knocking it over and mixing my cue cards in the process, meaning I had to go on shear memory. I know I pointed into the audience and accused my grandmother of something or other . . . and everyone within a 10 foot square radius of her believed I had accused them . . . and couldn't believe I dared to do that. I know I got a lot of laughs and had to wait several times for it to die down before continuing. I know it was the best I'd felt in days, months even, and I had that audience eating out of the palm of my hand. I know it was the last so-called "speech" I ever gave.

I nearly collapsed backstage after it was finished, didn't know how I'd get through the rest of the night. I used all my adrenaline and had nothing left. I don't remember another thing until the end, the part where they crown the winners. I was not expecting to win anything. Overall, I was the worst beauty contestant ever, clumsy, inarticulate on the Q&A, hostile posture, and so on. There was no way the judges could give me a crown, the uproar would be insane, no matter how entertaining my talent had been. None of the other girls liked me much, or didn't know me at all because I refused to go to the practices, so I knew I wouldn't get the Congeniality thing. I was just happy to have the whole thing over and looking forward to going home and getting some sleep after pulling the hellish all-niter.

And then Darren began announcing the winners. The first for the girl who had everyone in stitches, the girl he'd certainly never forget, the girl they'd all be telling their co-workers about in the morning, the most talented in the bunch of which there could be no doubt . . . he went a little over the top as I recall, I was very embarrassed as he called my name. At the last minute the judges created a new award for the talent portion of the program, so they could give me something. What else could they do? Some of the other girls were not too pleased about this, because of course I got a prize, a gift certificate for something or other that I never used . . . but that prize would've been part of one of the other girl's awards originally, so it was like I took something from them. This bothered some people I heard later . . . but what did I care? I had Toronto and two boyfriends and insomnia and deja vu and the Lady in Black and crazy boys on three-wheelers to think about . . . no time for beauty pageant politics.

Mood: contemplative
Drinking: It's Banrock time!
Listening To: Theory of a Deadman, Say I'm Sorry
Hair: neither laundered nor cut

Hair Again

Yesterday I bought hats. Hats again. Has it been a month since I bought the last three hats? I think not. What is up with this sudden hat fetish? I keep buying 'em, though I've yet to wear any out in public. Yesterday's hats are really cute though, for winter (I also bought a scarf . . . or two). So when I tried the hats on in the store my hair was up in a ponytail. I get home and try them on with my hair down -- blech! blech! blech! So totally not working, hats on this thick mess that is my head of hair. (Do you know how many hours it takes for my hair to air dry?!) So either I wear my hair pulled back with the hat . . . or I get a cut. I had decided to keep the mane til spring, winter warmth and all that . . . but now I'm seeing something shorter in these winter hats and getting a little excited about that. I think it would be cute. I think I'm ready to be cute again. The hair served it's purpose maybe. I tried it. I grew hair below my shoulders. No bangs! Hid me for awhile. But now it's time to emerge, return to my usual self. If ever I wanted it back I could get extensions, or buy a wig even. I bet wigs are fun. But that short, just out of bed look is so easy to maintain, so easy to play with colours, I mean seriously I cannot go full blown blonde or bright red or plum or black with this mess, it's just too much, too difficult. If I had a stylist here, I'd go do it today.

Mood: prolific
Drinking: water
Listening To: David Bowie, Modern Love
Hair: thinking about a shampoo

Rude Awakening #14

Things got a little rowdy in the house last night -- many kids, much drinking, at least one dog, a wrestling match, bass rattling window panes -- thankfully only until about midnight when the clan departed for another party or bar.

Then 4 a.m. -- CRASH! right by my head, from the bedroom on the other side of the wall,
Fuck, one boy slurs. What happened? a girl asks. I don't know, another girl replies. You okay, a second boy slurs. Fell outta the fuckin' bed, the first boy slurs. Girls giggle. Fell outta the fuckin' bed, first boy repeats. I can almost see him lying there rubbing his head. And then I hear it and have to cover my mouth with my hand so I don't bust out laughing (cuz if I can hear them, they can hear me) Is it in my head? Is it the girls? I dunno.

There were four in the bed and the little one said, Move over, Move over . . .

Mood: sleep deprived
Drinking: coffee still . . . but the Banrock moon is on the rise
Listening To: Enya, Only Time
Hair: thinking about lightening up a bit

ABCs of Music

Here's a fun one! Much harder than one might think. Anyone up for it?

List your favorite bands from A to Z. Bands, not single artists . . .

Here's mine:

A. ABBA
B. Bon Jovi
C. Clash
D. Def Leppard
E. Eurythmics
F. Foreigner
G. Guess Who
H. Hedley
I. I Mother Earth
J. J. Geils Band
K. Kings of Leon
L. Lovehammers
M. Matt Mays & El Torpedo
N. Nirvana
O. Our Lady Peace
P. Pink Floyd
Q. Queen
R. Rush
S. Sex Pistols
T. Tragically Hip
U. U2
V. Violent Femmes
W. Who
X. XTC
Y. Yes
Z. Zeppelin (technically a cheat, but I couldn't think of anyone else)

Mood: improved
Drinking: coffee with cream (which seems to be missing something . . . could it be the vanilla cognac?) I've got a bottle of water on the go too
Listening To: Neil Diamond, Girl, You'll Be A Woman Soon
Hair: pulled back

Friday Feast

You know, you can play along with any of these . . . I think I'm doing so many memes and quizzes in hopes that one of them will entice Jenn to blog.

Appetizer
Do you button shirts top-to-bottom or bottom-to-top?
top to bottom

Soup
What is your favorite sandwich?
not much for sandwiches per say, probably a blt or clubhouse though if i had to pick

Salad
What was a family project you helped work on as a child?
you're kidding right?

Main Course
When have you acted phony?
i think i act phony all the time, on purpose, for kicks and laughs . . . unfortunately i'm such a good actress, nobody else realises ;-)

Dessert
Do you write letters or postcards? If so, to whom?
i do not, but i've been thinking this would be a good thing to start doing for the kids

Friday Fiver

I'm in a meme mood this week . . . this too will pass . . .

1. What's the last item you mailed?
Four stories about four months ago, no response yet.

2. Who has made you smile recently?
An elderly man out raking leaves who said Hello when I walked past.

3. What's the weather like outside?
Cold, dark, grey, windy -- the usual

4. Do you consider youself a good judge of character?
Nope. I've misjudged many people in the past, not so much lately that I'm aware of, but got a lot of people wrong before.

5. What's your favorite photograph?
Good question. Right now I'd have to say it's the one of the gypsy band in moncton that joe took.

Rude Awakening #13

"I can smell your poop coming out from the under the door . . . EWWW!"

When the guy on the other side of my bedroom wall yells, it's like he's in my room yelling at me. When I'm in a deep sleep while he's yelling, it's a rude awakening. When he's yelling crazy shit like this, it's beyond rude . . .


Mood: a little bizarre
Drinking: nothing, thinking about going out for coffee
Listening To: Rage Against the Machine, Killing in the Name Of
Hair: recently combed

Ow!

I can not get over this frigging pain. I am seriously fucked up this fall like no other season changing in recent memory. My feet! My God! It's insane. My foot is all twisted and swollen, deformed even. Same with my scary claw hands. I don't know what to do about it. I know there's nothing really that I can do, just rest and wait for the adjustment. Drinking improves my spirits somewhat, but really doesn't help. I managed to walk out to the post office and Sears to pick up parcel with new boots (2 pair, one for winter, one for dress-up) and cute camisole that I'll likely never wear because it feels a bit too low-cut for this buxom broad . . . but will keep around just in case the urge strikes or a need arises. Laden with parcels I had to return home rather quickly and I intended to go out to my new favourite restaurant for dinner when I noticed their special was the Hungarian meatballs with wild rice, a glass of red wine and mixed vegetable appetizer for only $14.95 . . . the appetizer alone normally sells for $7.95, so this was quite the deal, I figured. Anyway, I came home and tried on new boots, then opened a can of soup because my feet were toast and could not withstand another walk . . . even for delicious dinner :-( Today even the joints in my spine are aching. Oh the joy of that! Do you know how many joints are in your backbone? . . . No, me neither, but it's a helluva lot! More than enough to make my whole backside feel like it's on fire. Same thing with the feet. Every little bone is screaming where it joins up with every other little bone. More bones in your feet than anywhere else on your whole body . . . and mine are in agony. Is it any wonder I'm SUPER cranky bitch and not getting anything done?

Mood: tired
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: nuttin' it's the middle of the night
Hair: pulled back for serious work

Question of the Day

You've been given 3 parachutes, but there are 4 people who need them. Who will you not give one to: Ozzy Osbourne, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Jude Law, or Hugh Grant?

(Of course, all 4 of them are up really super duper high, and the parachute is truly the only way to save them.)

I'd have to save poor Ozzy, I'd feel too sorry for him to let him drop without a parachute. And I surely wouldn't want the rest of the clan coming after me for killing the old man. I enjoy Hugh Grant, he's very funny, very British . . . he makes me laugh a lot . . . yeah, would have to save him. That leaves Jude and Catherine. My brother-in-law would be pissed if I let Catherine plunge to her death . . . and her hubby creeps me out big time, wouldn't want his wrath falling down around me. But Jude is a hotty, despite the skanky nanny affair . . . he'd flash me that Dickie/Alfie grin and I'd be a goner. Catherine would have her work cut out to get any parachute from me. Maybe if she turned out to be really down to earth and humble and sincere and not at all like so many of those egotistical characters she always plays . . . maybe she could triumph over Jude's dimples . . . but I highly doubt it.

Casual Curiosity #3

Instructions: Give your opinion on each of the 5 subjects below. Descriptive links are provided if you want to know more about the subject. What do you think about...

# the use of corsets
# Star Wars, the movie
# the possibility of a bird flu epidemic
# actor Kelsey Grammer ("Frasier")
# Horror fiction

on corsets: i think i could get into the whole corset thing if i had one that actually fit, one with laces. i'm not a big fan of the suck you in spandex thingys because they're damn uncomfortable and they don't evenly distribute your body, but shove all the fat right out front so your gut looks even more huge than it really is, because it's your gut and breasts and ass all shoved to the front and held there with lycra . . . this is not good. a real corset though would probably be good for posture and everything, might be just the thing to help my back carry around the heavy load aka my breasts

on star wars: i'm indifferent, not a fan, not prone to lining up for days to be the first to see the next episode . . . in fact, i haven't seen the whole series, i don't even know if i've seen all of the original. i liked the wookie . . . but i'm more of a star trek girl, planet of the apes, battlestar galatica, logan's run . . . that's more the sci-fi stuff i've been into. not that i'm dissing star wars, i'm sure it's fine, i've just never bothered to see it.

on the bird flu: pretty scary stuff, but not surprising. i've given up watching the news, given up worrying about these terrifying things that may or may not happen but i'll not be able to control one way or the other. i worry way more about tornadoes and hurricanes and ice storms and all kinds of severe weather though than i do about the bird flu, and i guess that's just because the severe weather is happening everyday all around us very close by, and the bird flu isn't.

on kelsey grammer: i liked frasier, but niles was my favourite character. i wouldn't say i've given kelsey grammer another thought since the series ended.

on horror fiction: bram stoker's dracula is one of my favourite novels of all time and i really enjoy poe and kafka. i like some of stephen king's earlier work but really feel like he hasn't written anything decent since he started enjoying success with his writing and more publishing demands were put on him. anne rice is pretty good, though i find most of her work more erotic than frightening. koontz has been known to scare the crap out of me, but like King he's cranking out too much stuff and the quality is suffering for quantity. clive barker is wicked stuff, demented, disturbed, haven't read any of his stuff in years, but he's good. books of blood were freaking insane. i haven't read much horror fiction in recent years, tried to write a little, unsuccessfully i might add, but overall i do enjoy the genre.

Literary Meme

Rules:

1. Take first five novels from your bookshelf.
2. Book 1 -- first sentence.
3. Book 2 -- last sentence on page 50.
4. Book 3 -- second sentence on page 100.
5. Book 4 -- next to the last sentence on page 150.
6. Book 5 -- final sentence of the book.
7. Make the five sentences into a paragraph.
8. Feel free to "cheat" to make it a better paragraph.
9. Name your sources.
10.Post to your blog.

I took the first five novels I found hanging around my desk and did cheat a bit on the order to make a better paragraph, but didn't tweak any of the words --

"In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. We sat back in the seat together and the top of the carriage made it dark. Across the yard came four people. Leaping not into hay but into the black underwater colour of creek, walking naked to the farmhouse, chewing rhubarb, clothes under one arm. For some minutes, before she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep, she just lay quiet, smiling at the ceiling."

Sources:

Franny & Zooey, JD Salinger
A Farewell to Arms, Ernest Hemingway
The Grapes of Wrath, John Steinbeck
The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
In the Skin of the Lion, Michael Ondaatje

I wonder if the same exercise would be fun with poetry?

More Meme

10 Firsts:
First Best Friend: stacy, since birth
First Screen Name: writesprose
First Piercing: ears, when I was about 12 maybe?
First Crush: kendall crawford in grade one
First Music: dave clark five, kris kristopherson, and whatever else my parents had on vinyl. the first album i ever got was either the soundtrack for grease or saturday night fever. my first 8-track was shaun cassidy.
First Car: i almost bought myself a car once, but then i moved to toronto and ditched the driving idea. it almost seems like i bought a car one time for someone else tho, but can't recall who exactly or which car it would be, kevin seems the likely suspect, cuz i would've had the money then and would've bought him anything he wanted.
First love: i hesitate to say ronnie cuz i don't think high school counts in the love department, but then again four years is a long time to be with someone if you're not in love . . . but generally i consider kevin to be my first love
First stuffed animal: was there anyone before poodle? i think not.
First Time Being Drunk: crap! that was a long time ago . . . ummm, i suppose i must've been 12ish when i started drinking, but i can't remember the first time i got drunk
First Job: selling dogs at pjs pet centre, sherway gardens -- a terrible job, heartbreaking

9 Lasts:
Last Cigarette: officially quit on may 10, 2002, but there's been a cigarette here and there since, maybe three total, last one would've been about a year and a half ago maybe
Last Alchoholic beverage: glass of bordeaux with supper tonight
Last Car Ride: with stacy on the weekend
Last Movie Seen in theatres: is it called two for the money? something like that. with al pacino and matthew mcconnahey (sp?) about betting
Last Phone Call: talked to mom on monday night
Last Kiss: kissing the kids goodbye a couple of weeks ago when i was home
Last CD Played: bon jovi, have a nice day
Last bubble bath: i wish i had a tub :-( last leisurely bubble bath happened when i was home for stacy's wedding or dad's birthday, i forget which
Last time you cried: it's been awhile, probably right after i got back from being home at dad's birthday

8 Have You Evers:
Have You Ever Been Outside The Country: yes, but not as far out as i hope to go in future
Have You Ever Dated One Of Your Best Friends?: that's a trick question kind of, all the guys i dated were my best friend to some extent . . . hmmm, but the friends first, dating later thing, yeah, i've done that
Have You Ever Been Arrested: amazingly not
Have You Ever Skinny Dipped: yep
Have You Ever Been on TV: for sure
Have You Ever Kissed Someone and then Regretted it?: i don't think so
Have You Ever had a Suggestive Dream About Someone?: absolutely
Have you ever cheated?: i have in former lifes

7 foods you hate:
1. seafood, anything shelly like lobster, i can tolerate some halibut, haddock or salmon but am not really crazy about anything fishy
2. celery, just can't grow to like the taste no matter how much i eat it in different things
3. can't think of another thing
4.
5.
6.
7.

6 Things You've Done Today:
(In no particular order)
1. wrote
2. blogged
3. edited
4. cooked
5. answered email
6. worked on websites

5 Things you ate today:
1. ribs
2. salad
3. cheese
4. german olive/rosemary bread
5. does coffee count? cuz that's all the food stuff

4 People You Can Tell [ALMOST] Anything to:
1. i don't tell anyone almost anything, different people get different bits and pieces
2.
3.
4.

3 Choices:
1. Red or Black: black
2. Hot or Cold: cold
3. Sun or Rain: SUN!!

2 Things You Want to Do Before you die:
1. complete and publish a whole book
2. travel overseas

1 thing you regret:
1. no regrets, without the mistakes i wouldn't have learned the lessons

Still Raining

They had to close the traffic circle in Moncton for three hours this morning because of flooding. The wind has diminished somewhat here. The rain no longer pounds the skylight, is just a mist . . . don't think I'll go out in it, but this is more to do with my still throbbing joints and less to do with the wet factor, though I still do not have an umbrella.

Mood: still not very optimistic
Drinking: coffee (do you think I ingest too much caffeine?)
Listening To: doors slamming in the house
Hair: pulled back, but not too severe . . . could use a trimming

Napping

This afternoon I napped. I never nap. Never! Unless I've been up for days or I'm sick or I've been travelling VIA Rail for 18 hours . . . I need some pretty severe circumstances for me to nap. Today, I took some non-drowsy sinus medication to offset my need to turn up the electric heat, the same non-drowsy junk that usually pumps me up making me all high and jittery, and within a half-hour I could not keep my eyes open and had to go lay down where I promptly fell asleep -- NAPPING! I was asleep by 1 a.m. last night, didn't get up until 8:30, got WAY more sleep than I normally do . . . and today I'm frigging napping. What is up with that?!

This rainy day weather is not all hurricane, is mostly a nor-easter that's bringing the grief, could be snow by day's end. I'll be needing some winter boots. I noticed today that most people have started wearing their winter jackets, some scarfs and mittens too. I need a scarf and gloves or mittens. Need to try on my winter coat too. It is brand new, but I've lost weight since purchasing.

Mood: yawning
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: wind shrieking through trees
Hair: soon to be put up and out of the way for dinner methinks

Hurricane Time . . . Again

Back from the runaround to the bank, post office and save-easy (there are no easy savings there!) Made it back moments before the rain really started coming down. My left foot ached so bad on the walk I nearly turned around and came home before I even got halfway to the curling club, but I somehow managed to limp out and back without hopefully causing too much damage.

Wine Fest tickets came in the mail today! Yay! Trish and I are going to have an awesome time. What an adventure that will be I'm sure!

Bought $25 worth of meat (questionable?) on what passes for a sale at the grocery store -- a smallish turkey breast, four thick centre cut pork chops, a pack of medium ground hamburger that I divided into four small servings, and some riblets I divided into four REALLY small servings which I'll no doubt end up cooking two packages at a time so I should've just divided into two servings to begin with, but whatever.

Both my hands (fingers, knuckles, palms, wrists) are a mess of aching stiffness. Both my knees too. The left foot as I mentioned before. And my left shoulder too. Blah! It's hard to stay positive, stay upbeat, function like a normal human being, get anything done, when just the act of sitting or lying still hurts so much. If I had a bathtub I would spend the afternoon soaking in salts and nearly unbearable hot water. But the smurf shower isn't very helpful in this respect. Sometimes I think about that other apartment, the one with the high ceilings and wood floors and two bedrooms . . . and friggin' bathtub in a normal sized bathroom . . . I think about it and wonder if I made the right choice afterall.

I've had to turn up the heat, see if I can get some of the dampness out of my bones, see if the electric heat sinus pain around the eyes, stuffed up nose and headache will be the lesser of the two evils.

Is it too early for cognac? It's after 5pm somewhere. Paris? Rome?

Sometimes I need to complain. And since I have nobody here to physically converse with, complaints get dumped onto the blog. No need to worry about me though, I'm sure I'll be fine once this tropical . . . whatever the hell it is now . . . passes.

Mood: dark
Drinking: water
Listening To: rain pounding on the roof
Hair: keeping me warm

Picking Up the Pieces

A brand new day. Grey. Cold. Dreary. Misty rain. Wilma due this afternoon. I've got to go out before then and do the runaround, get ready for the possibility of power failure, days of confinement in heavy rain, must restock my fridge.

Back to basics today. When all else fails and I feel like I'm losing it (see yesterday's rant) it's time to resurrect Gordie's Six Things. So today there is a list, prioritised in order of importance . . . only six things, the other 300'ish have been cleared from my brain. I will work on the first one until the day runs out or I complete it, whichever comes first. I will ignore email inquiries about the status of things or piling on new things. I've got my list and I'm sticking to it, no more dividing my time across a zillion projects with nobody seeing any results. Today results will be apparent . . . or I'll be back later for another rant worthy of high rankings in the google sex search string.

Mood: painful
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: David Bowie, The Man Who Sold the World
Hair: down and growing

Break Down (Another Pointless Rant, Please Skip to the Next Post)

Quotes heard today that mean something to me (a quarter to anyone identifying the sources) --

"Announcing your plans is a good way to hear God laugh."

"You can't always survive by being practical, you have to leave room for a miracle."

"Conserve water, drink wine."

I'm on the edge of a major breakdown . . . fucking major big-time shit. STOP READING RIGHT NOW CUZ I'M ABOUT TO RANT . . . I'm overextended, overwhelmed, dys-fucking-functional . . . my head won't stop aching, my arms, my knees, my legs . . . I just want to go to bed and sleep until it's over, until the snow comes and the emails stop coming, until everyone gives up on me and just goes away. I need an igloo in the middle of the artic or something. Someplace with a cold relatively stable temperature and no contact with the outside world. Fat fucking chance of escape that way . . . and what then anyway? I have bills to pay, need many jobs to live, it's a fact of my life. I can't afford for everyone to go away. I can't afford to hide. I can't afford a fucking igloo. But too many people want stuff. And it's not that they want much, individually, but when you put them all together . . . it's a lot. I'm overwhelmed. I'm having anxiety. I'm a little fucking stressed. I know. Before you fuckin' comment or send emails or whatever, I know already. I told you not to read the rant. I warned you. I know it's my own fuckin' fault for getting into so much stuff, I don't need you to tell me or withdraw requests or empathise or sympathise or anything that will make me feel fucking worse than I do already . . . so please resist the urge to try and help me . . . I just need to blow steam and then fuckin' finish SOMETHING I've fuckin' started for fuckin' somebody somewhere so I can fuckin' cross it off the fuckin' list. With all that fuckin' I'm bound to shoot to the top of the search engines for any porn requests, don't you know. Ha! Ha! That's me being funny in the face of the wave.

God damn hurricane season. God damn rain! If this is the way it's going to be here . . . I don't know . . . maybe I really am nomadic . . . because today, today I would move in a heartbeat . . . I can't wash the fucking dishes because my fucking hands hurt too much to hold the glassware . . . that is just fucked up. Where is the snow already? The below zero weather? I am so ready for it. We go below zero and my pain subsides. It's all this crazy fall weather, all this rain . . . every day it rains! I need a break, a reprieve, a recovery period . . . you can only handle so many days of severe pain and then you go crazy . . . I may be already there, but I've been trying to ward it off by plying myself with alcohol. But then I can't do the PR work while under the influence, which causes great stress . . . least I don't think I can do it, I've been unsuccessful in my efforts so far . . . this isn't to say that a whole bunch of papers aren't just about to get a bunch of press releases I won't remember writing . . . maybe it is something I can do in my sleep, maybe monkeys can be trained to the task . . . maybe . . . we shall see.

Mood: unsettled
Drinking: coffee mixed with hot chocolate and a splash of cognac
Listening To: Umberto Tozzi, Ti Amo
Hair: Bah! Who the fuck has time to care about hair?

Personality Test

This is a real test given by the Human Relations Dept. at many of the major corporations today. It helps employers get better insight concerning their employees and prospective employees. It's only 10 simple questions, so .. grab a pencil and paper to keep track of your letter answers.

1. When do you feel your best?
a) in the morning
b) during the afternoon ? early evening
c) late at night

2 . You usually walk ...
a) fairly fast, with long steps
b) fairly fast, with little steps
c) less fast head up, looking the world in the face
d) less fast, head down
e) very slowly

3. When talking to people you ...
a) stand with your arms folded
b) have your hands clasped
c) have one or both your hands on your hips
d) touch or push the person to whom you are talking
e) play with your ear, touch your chin, or smooth your hair

4. When relaxing, you sit with ...
a) your knees bent with your legs neatly side by side
b) your legs crossed
c) your legs stretched out or straight
d) one leg curled under you

5. When something really amuses you, you react with ...
a) big appreciated laugh
b) a laugh, but not a loud one
c) a quiet chuckle
d) a sheepish smile

6. When you go to a party or social gathering you ...
a) make a loud entrance so everyone notices you
b) make a quiet entrance, looking around for someone you know
c) make the quietest entrance, trying to stay unnoticed

7. You're working very hard, concentrating hard, and you're interrupted ... do you ...
a) welcome the break
b) feel extremely irritated
c) vary between these two extremes

8. Which of the following colors do you like most?
a) red or orange
b) black
c) yellow or light blue
d) green
e) dark blue or purple
f) white
g) brown or gray

9. When you are in bed at night, in those last few moments before going to sleep are you ...
a) stretched out on your back
b) stretched out face down on your stomach
c) on your side, slightly curled
d) with your head on one arm
e) with your head under the covers

10. You often dream that you are ...
a) falling
b) fighting or struggling
c) searching for something or somebody
d) flying or floating
e) you usually have dreamless sleep
f) your dreams are always pleasant


Now that you've answeredthe questions on paper, score yourself with this key:

POINTS:
1. (a) 2 (b) 4 (c) 6
2. (a) 6 (b) 4 (c) 7 (d) 2 (e) 1
3. (a) 4 (b) 2 (c) 5 (d) 7 (e) 6
4. (a) 4 (b) 6 (c) 2 (d) 1
5. (a) 6 (b) 4 (c) 3 (d) 5 (e) 2
6. (a) 6 (b) 4 (c) 2
7. (a) 6 (b) 2 (c) 4
8. (a) 6 (b) 7 (c) 5 (d) 4 (e) 3 (f) 2 (g) 1
9. (a) 7 (b) 6 (c) 4 (d) 2 (e) 1
10. (a) 4 (b) 2 (c) 3 (d) 5 (e) 6 (f) 1

Now add up the total number of points. Here's what your score says about you:

OVER 60 POINTS: Others see you as someone they should "handle with care." You're seen as vain, self-centered, and who is extremely dominant. Others may admire you, wishing they could be more like you, but don't always trust you, hesitating to become too deeply involved with you.


51 TO 60 POINTS: Others see you as an exciting, highly volatile, rather impulsive personality; a natural leader, who's quick to make decisions, though not always the right ones. They see you as bold and adventuresome, someone who will try anything once; someone who takes chances and enjoys an adventure. They enjoy being in your company because of the excitement you radiate.


41 TO 50 POINTS: Others see you as fresh, lively, charming, amusing, practical, and always interesting; someone who's constantly in the center of attention, but sufficiently well-balanced not to let it go to their head. They also see you as kind, considerate, and understanding; someone who'll always cheer them up and help them out.


31 TO 40 POINTS: Others see you as sensible, cautious, careful & practical. They see you as clever, gifted, or talented, but modest.
Not a person who makes friends too quickly or easily, but someone who's extremely loyal to friends you do make and who expect the same loyalty in return. Those who really get to know you realize it takes a lot to shake your trust in your friends, but equally that it takes you a long time to get over it if that trust is ever broken.


21 TO 30 POINTS: Your friends see you as painstaking and fussy.
They see you as very cautious, extremely careful, a slow and steady plodder. It would really surprise them if you ever did something impulsively or on the spur of the moment, expecting you to examine everything carefully from every angle and then, usually decide against it. They think this reaction is caused partly by your careful nature.


UNDER 21 POINTS: People think you are shy, nervous, and indecisive, someone who needs looking after, who always wants someone else to make the decisions & who doesn't want to get involved with anyone or anything! They see you as a worrier who always sees problems that don't exist. Some people think you're boring. Only those who know you well know that you aren't.

I scored in the 41-50 points, which I wouldn't have thought for myself, but maybe this is the way others see me. What did you score?

Mood: determined to get things done and off my desk today
Drinking: coffee with cream (but no cognac until the work is done)
Listening To: my rumbling tummy . . . need to do runaround for food
Hair: drying naturally

Shhh!

Oh my pounding head! Shh! Don't say nothing.

What a fine day I had yesterday once I recovered from my early morning awakening. Marilyn picked me up at 7:30 sharp and we drove to Fredericton. It's much further to Fredericton from here than Blackville. About 2 and a half hours. I've always taken the bus, which seems to take forever anyways with all the stopping and waiting etc. So I didn't really understand how long the trip would take straight through. The meeting went well. We've got an awesome board I think. It seems like it's going to be a positive group with everyone pulling some of the weight. This is important not always a given. After the meeting we went to Dimitris for lunch. I knew Stacy and I would be going out later so I just got the chicken pita and a glass of wine. Their prices are pretty good.

It wasn't too long after I got home that Stacy arrived. We went to the liquor store and I got a few bottles of wine and some of that Navan Cognac I tried last weekend at the Whiskey Fest, the stuff infused with black vanilla, can you say yummy? Then we went to The Olive restaurant for dinner. It's official -- this is now my absolute favourite place, certainly in Sackville, but it also ranks right up there for favourite anywhere in the province.

I had chicken stir-fry (chicken breast with huge chunks of broccoli, zucchini, red pepper, red onion, and mushroom in a ginger-sesame sauce) on a on a bed of wild rice (FINALLY! Someone who gets the rice right!) It was fantastic! Two glasses of wine, just the house red, but their wine list was quite impressive, some nice bottles I could've and would've ordered if someone besides me had been drinking wine. But perhaps the most amazing part was the dessert. No frozen packaged stuff out of Montreal for these kids! Uh-uh, no way, this was the real McCoy made fresh in-house daily (just like their bread). I had the New York Cheesecake with berries and it was to die for and it was a frigging HUGE slice and it was only $4.95!! I couldn't believe it. When he brought the dessert I thought for sure I was in for at least 8 bucks.

Stacy had a pasta dish and a chocolate dessert and her dinner was equally as wonderful. I'm thinking I should just buy a laptop and move my office over there, take advantage of their free wireless . . . really, it was THAT yummy. Impressive. Come visit and we'll go.

After dinner was Jovi Time! We stayed up until after 4 and drank and talked and watched concert footage and interviews and had a fantabulous time! How excited are we to be going to see this concert now?! Don't even ask.

Mood: headachy
Drinking: coffee with cream, spiked with Navan (vanilla cognac)
Listening To: rain pound on the roof and my new favourite Internet radio station TheRock Radio.com
Hair: pulled back in a white scrunchie to match my white sweater, yesterday's Freddy clothes reassembled for convenience sake

Morning Comes

It's dark outside. Feels like I've gotten up in the middle of the night. So this is what morning looks like from the other end. Blah! Boys had a party last night, very loud by times, right at my head when I was in bed. They've gone to bed now. But I'm up and hoping they don't mind a little rock in the morning, much better than some of the crap they were listening to earlier. At most I've had three hours sleep. My specialty, functioning on few hours, here I go again. Wish I had a travel mug for coffee. Maybe we'll stop somewhere enroute. Breakfast wouldn't be bad either. Hopefully this goes well and I walk away liking everyone as much as I do walking in.

Mood: trying to wake
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: The Rock Radio Dot Com -- REM, Losing My Religion
Hair: still attached

Old Music

Leaving for Fredericton at 7:30 in the a.m. I so don't do mornings well or often . . . unless I'm coming in from the backside. Shouldn't do an all-niter tonight though, should be sharp for my first BOD meeting. Also Stacy arrives tomorrow night for Bon Jovi fest and wine, mustn't be sleepy. We're going to listen to all my Jovi CDs and watch all the DVDs. Not surprisingly I've got quite the collection going on.

Listening to 80's tunes in this crisp fall night air takes me back to Barnettville. Fall 1984. Brook Hill. Royal Reserve. Hermit's Wine. Hash. Black Beauties. Christmas Trees. Pink Hearts. DuMaurier Cigarettes. Bonfires. Sitting in that old LTD of Dad's in the yard, listening to the radio out of New York, trying to keep warm and dry, Ronnie too shy to go in the house, holding hands, talking, kissing, windows steaming up. Islands in the Stream. Break My Stride. Suddenly Last Summer. I can still see him sitting on the chair by the old cupboard in the kitchen the first night he went into my parents. We were soaked through from the rain, dripping off his hair and he was shivering, wouldn't hardly look at Dad, who of course would NOT shut-up. He was the first boy I brought home. And it was easy. It's always been easy, except for that one time when they forbade me to see someone. I saw him anyway of course, but the joke was on my mother when he turned out to be the best of the bunch. She always says God punished her for that close-minded judgement by sending Marty into our lives later. Pretty funny, but who knows, there could be something to it.

I remember one night Marty picked me and Ronnie up on the road. He was four-wheeling with a truck, green I think, chev, side-step. Seems like him and Lyle or maybe Donnie were out and about in their separate vehicles, roaring through the woods at the end of the road. He was drunk of course, maybe on acid, I'm not sure. I was a little drunk, a bit high. Always the sensible one, Ronnie just wanted to get a ride home to my place, but when Marty asked me if we wanted to go four-wheelin' it was a done deal. The insanity of it, barrelling through the woods in the dark, nearly flipping, nearly getting stuck, nearly running into trees, we could've so easily been hurt or killed. A few times we stopped suddenly, running into a big rock or tree trunk or bottoming out in a hole and I'd get flung hard against the dash, knocking the wind out of me, but not putting me through the windshield. Seatbelt wasn't even a consideration. Of course I loved it, the thrill of it all, not caring whether I lived or died anyway in my teenage depression, it took these kinds of extreme activities to get me to feel anything at all it seemed. I wonder now if this is when I threw my ribs out of whack. Impossible to know for certain. I couldn't stop laughing. I remember Marty flirting with me, saying we should throw Ronnie out and go for a drive alone. I didn't think he was serious, thought he was just playing with me because I was 14 years old and that made Marty old at 26? 28? So I laughed and said that sounded like fun . . . the look on Ronnie's face, he was horrified. And with good reason it turned out, because of course Marty was serious, would've put him out. Had the gun in behind the seat from hunting. I had to say I was just kidding when he stopped the truck. Then he laughed and said he was just kidding too. But he wasn't. If I didn't know it then, I know it now, he also remembered that night and we talked about it a dozen or so years later when we were a couple.

Poor Ronnie. Part of the reason he was attracted to me was the impulsiveness, the wildness, the attitude, but is it any wonder he ran off with someone a little less insane the first chance he got. Dealing with my teenaged self must've been pure hell. Now, I'm just a boring old broad, content to stay home and watch movies or go to a bar where you can carry on a conversation. Hah! Who would've thunk it? And Ronnie still phones me every year on my birthday to wish me a happy day.

Mood: nostalgic
Drinking: hot chocolate
Listening To: The Motels, Suddenly Last Summer
Hair: Scrunched

Today's Do Run Run

- phone interview 3pm for bnm featured biz
- never-ending pr spin continues with deb of maine going province-wide and into bangor, se2005 in general to nb dailies & local leader, wfnb workshops across nb and into cable, wfnb lit contest nationally, mighty awards local (more webs on tap to spin but these need doing TODAY)
- fiction manuscript evaluation/editing
- bnm troubleshoot

Mood: fuzz-brained
Drinking: coffee, cold
Listening To: Jet, Cold Hard Bitch
Hair: pulled back loose wisps hanging in eyes

I Never Doubted It

English Genius
You scored 100% Beginner, 100% Intermediate, 100% Advanced, and 100% Expert! You did so extremely well, even I can't find a word to describe your excellence! You have the uncommon
intelligence necessary to understand things that most people don't. You
have an extensive vocabulary, and you're not afraid to use it properly!
Way to go!

Thank you so much for taking my test. I hope you enjoyed it!

For the complete Answer Key, visit my blog: http://shortredhead78.blogspot.com/.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:

	You scored higher than 56% on Beginner
	You scored higher than 39% on Intermediate
	You scored higher than 65% on Advanced
	You scored higher than 92% on Expert

Link: The Commonly Confused Words Test written by shortredhead78 on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Bless Me Readers . . .

for I have sinned. It's been four days since my last post.

Tidbits You May or May Not Know From the Road Thus Far:

- caught bus to fredton with 1 minute to spare
- calmed down by Oromocto
- arrived alive
- pasta and wine pre-whiskey
- Absenthe tastes like black licorice but didn't make me want to cut off an ear
- Vanilla Cognac is yummy!
- Bowmore Darkest Cherry Cask wins Best of Show
- Whiskey Fests are F-U-N!
- Inuit artists make rare Maritimers
- Poetry can happen in the middle of a rainy afternoon
- Chicken curry and shiraz pre-Rage
- Intensity/Integrity of Rage needs to be seen to be appreciated
- Full-pot coffee mornings necessary for survival
- Actual food in Blackville kitchen, edible
- Kids grow like weeds
- How do people see 6am everyday and sleep?
- Six stories out of SE2005 on the do

The story continues . . .

Mood: jetlagged
Drinking: my kingdom for a glass
Listening To: co-workers make my head spin
Hair: Fan-fuckin-tastic! (Popular Opinion)

This is a test

of the emergency broadcast system.

On the Road Again

Just can't wait to get on the road again . . .

Leaving in the a.m. but not on a jet plane. Lots to do still to be ready. But then we all know I'm never really ready. Something will be forgotten. Something will be left undone. I must not forget to pack new Bon Jovi CD/DVD for Sherry's viewing pleasure. Also need to take Episodes of Deadwood Season One and Sopranos Season Five on DVD for Dad's viewing. Need Stones pix to show everyone. As well as Joe's paparazzi wedding pics. I am packing so light! It's freaky how low maintenance I can be. I'm getting good at this packing stuff again. I used to come home from Toronto with just a knapsack and stay three weeks. It's all in the planning. I haven't packed a single thing yet, but for two days I've been working it out in my head, what goes, what stays and how we all get there.

This little jaunt begins another episode where I'll feel like I'm never home again I'm sure. Because I really am such a home-body. Tomorrow is Fredericton and whiskey (and wine). Saturday is northside fredville for artist. Sunday is Blackville. Monday is Chatham. Tuesday is train to Sackville. Wednesday is catch-up with crap day. Thursday night is a reading at the Library. A visit from Mary of the WFNB happens on Friday. I go to Freddy next Saturday again for WFNB Board meeting. Followed that evening by a Bon Jovi festival of sorts that will last well into Sunday I'm sure and involve much food and drink and gabbing.

Then I rest.

Until November . . . which is shaping up to be a bit busy too.

First weekend is Wine Festival in Moncton with company coming and an old-fashioned sleep-over. Same day is writing workshop and reading in Moncton. I could do all of these things if company was agreeable and we stayed overnight in the city. But I'm not sure I'll want to do those things after hours of wine sampling. Best to play it by ear maybe. A writers group meeting on the 9th. Off to Sussex on the 12th for a workshop. Off to the other side of town on the 13th for a writer group novel discussion (this means I must read the whole novel and be able to discuss intelligently by this time). The following weekend a workshop here at the library that I'm kinda sorta organising, so I need to do the PR, make posters, post them, etc. Then I'm back at the Blackville Access Centre on the 24th to give another workshop. Yes, imagine that! Back by popular demand. Will wonders never cease. And I'll probably visit with the family that weekend. The next weekend is a poetry workshop in Moncton . . . but I don't know about that . . . do I want to embarrass myself by trying to write poetry? I'm not sold. But we'll see, I don't totally want to diss the Moncton workshops, and this is looking like the only one I'll be available to attend. And that takes us into December and Christmas and New Year's and all that great stuff . . . And then January and Toronto!! Yay me!

I am still undecided about what to do about Christmas. To go to Mom's or have my own. That is a question. One thing decidedly true is that I will not be cooking a turkey, no matter what :-)

Mood: manic
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: The Tragically Hip, Little Bones
Hair: in spirals

Meme Anyone?

Here's one going around. Play if you're bored.

1. name someone with the same birthday as you?
Armand Curtis, same day, same year, everything.

2. where was your first kiss?
My first kiss? Or my first REAL kiss? UGH! My first kiss really sucked. My second kiss too. In fact all kisses with that poor first boy were not good at all. And just when I was ready to write kissing off as one of those things that could never be as good as what other people made it out to be, I got kissed for real. First kiss happened while standing in the middle of the road between my house and Stacy's. First real kiss happened while sitting on a huge boulder back the tracks halfway to the M&W.

3. have you ever seriously vandalized someone else's property?
No . . . although we did tp Wilson's trees one Halloween. And we used to switch all Eric's lawn ornaments with his neighbor's . . . and they tried to blame us for destroying that little trailer in Howard's field . . . and it kinda seems like I remember blowing up a bottle of fingernail polish in Bradley's mother's microwave (but I'm not real sure that "really" happened or just in my head). But no, nothing serious. Although, I did have to leave the house one time so windows could be broken and buildings burned . . .

4. have you ever hit someone of the opposite sex?
Yes. But he totally deserved it. It was the night I closed the club for good and took out all my stuff. The power had been off, the phone disconnected. It was a sad thing to say goodbye to the place. Lying in bed later, after hours of crying because deciding to end the biz was a huge and difficult decision, which totally turned my life upside down, and I didn't know if I did the right thing or not. It was probably the lowest day I'd ever had in my life up to that point and my boyfriend just couldn't resist the temptation to fuck with that. Lying in the dark beside him, trying to focus on the positive and get some sleep, when he matter-of-factly says he doesn't love me anymore. Like, "By the way, I know you're sad, but I'm done and you need to leave." I didn't even think about what I was doing. I slugged him in the stomach with a fist my daddy would proud of . . . and now, I'm so glad I did. I look back on that moment fondly, and with giggles.

5. have you ever sung in front of a large number of people?
Funny to be answering this tonight, because earlier this evening one of the women at the writers' meeting asked me if I sang, she could hear something in my laugh that would seem to indicate I'm able. Maybe with voice lessons. I used to sing at the club when we had karaoke, because it was my job to make a fool out of myself in order to encourage others to do it. Not large numbers though.

6. what's the first thing you notice about the preferred sex?
Oh, this is so shallow I know. First thing I notice is height. It's no secret I like tall boys. Ever since I fell in love with the whole basketball team in seventh grade. All of my boyfriends minus two have stood at least six feet. But I'm not opposed to someone in the 5'9" range. Had one boyfriend that tall . . . I can't go any shorter though. I know, it's superficial, it's wrong . . . but the one guy that I did date who was the same height as me was a bit disastrous on all levels and I never ever did get comfortable with the fact that my legs were longer than his.

7. what really turns you on?
Everything! Kidding. Kinda. I'd have to say laughing. When I'm with someone and we get into a fit of giggles and can't stop, and then everything (no matter how serious) seems funny.

8. what do you order at starbucks?
I don't go to Starbucks, but I'm a regular coffee kinda gal, nothing fancy, no mochafrappachino thingys for me. Though I do prefer Brazilian beans over Columbian.

9. what is your biggest mistake?
So many mistakes, how to pick just one . . . but seriously, I don't really believe in mistakes per say. I think in terms of life lessons and if I didn't make the mistakes I have I wouldn't be where I am now. And I kinda like where I am now. Still if I had to pick one, I'd say it was turning down the offer my boss made before I moved home from Toronto. Would've drastically changed the course of my life. I quit my job and moved into a two bedroom apartment (with was it four other people?) in Moncton where I was appalled to learn temp agencies only paid $8/hour and full-time jobs were not a happening thing. Meanwhile, I could've took a six month sabbatical to visit my family and generally travel about the world, returning not to my job but to a higher paying, stock-holding Team Leader position (pay during sabbatical would be at the higher rate) and returning not to my apartment way to hell and back in Alderwood but a condo in North York where I could live rent-free for as long as I wanted, with an option to then buy if I so desired, and with a limo service to and from the office everyday. More business travel could be worked into my job description taking me to our offices in every major North American city as well as London, Paris, Rome, Berlin, Hong Kong, Tokyo and Sydney, Australia. Is it any wonder I turned him down? I mean who could even digest such an offer? The more I refused, the more he added to the pot. It was insanity. That's the kind of thing that happens when you give young guys millions of dollars. It seriously makes me wonder what he really wanted? Or was it just that he didn't want to accept I couldn't be bought and he was determined to find my price no matter what it took? At any rate, I walked out on the whole deal, and it's probably my biggest mistake, but it's not a regret.

10. have you ever hurt yourself on purpose?
Absolutely.

11. say something totally random about yourself.
I have a scar just below my lip on the left-hand side of my face where I drove a block of wood completely through my face when I was three or four years old.

12. has anyone ever said you looked like a celebrity?
Kevin used to say I looked like Belinda Carisle from The Go-Go's and also Amanda from Another World, pretty much any celebrity with big cheeks and eyes he thought looked like me. It's kinda funny.

13. do you still watch kiddy movies or tv shows?
With the kids sometimes, yeah.

14. did you have braces?
Nope. Only rich kids had braces when I was growing up.

15. are you comfortable with your height?
I am. But I'd love to be a few inches taller. Sometimes I wish I was really petite, but usually only when I'm in a squishy situation that could be avoided if my legs weren't so long. But this is rare.

16. what is the most romantic thing someone of the preferred sex has done for you?
Romance lives? Shocking! . . . This is difficult, my track record with romantic sensitive guys kinda sucks, actually kinda doesn't exist. But there was that one time when Kevin stopped by Grand & Toy to pick up invoices or something for his construction business. It was the first time he'd ever been in that store but he thought of me because he knew I shopped there all the time and loved it, so he bought me a highlighter. It sounds cheesy, but it was really nice, the gesture I mean, well the highlighter too of course because Kevin's gifts were always the best that money could buy so he got me the nice one I would never have bought for myself. All these years and the most romantic thing is still the highlighter, that's just really sad.

17. when do you know it's love?
Too difficult. PASS.

18. do you speak any other languages?
I do not. But I'd like to speak Italian.

19. have you ever been to a tanning salon?
Hell no!

20. what magazines do you read?
Nothing regular but if I'm in the magazine mood I pick up The New Yorker, Vanity Fair or Jane usually.

21. have you ever ridden in a limo?
Not a stretch limo, not that I can recall.

22. has anyone you were really close to passed away?
Close yes, but not super close. Best friends, immediate family, all still here.

23. do you watch mtv?
No.

24. what's something that really annoys you?
People who think they're better than other people.

25. what's something you really like?
Red wine. Books. Music. Movies. Coffee.

26. do you like michael jackson?
Not even a little.

27. can you dance?
I can. But can I do it well? I dunno.

28. what's the latest you have ever stayed up?
All night and then all night again, it was something like 62-63 hours. And it happened more than once. It used to happen probably once every couple of weeks a few years back. Even still I do a lot of 36 hour sprints.

29. have you ever been rushed by an ambulance into the emergency room?
Not by ambulance but rushed by Kevin when I had kidney infection so bad it would've burst in another day or so without treatment.

30. do you actually read these when other people fill them out?
I do, I enjoy comparing answers.

Mood: procrastinating
Drinking: diet pepsi
Listening To: boys on the side
Hair: flippy

Here I Am

I was sick for two weeks, but I'm feeling functionally better now. Been busy with work and also finishing up NB Ink. I sent it off yesterday and since I haven't heard back I'm thinking there are no changes. I took something last night for my sinus and it knocked me out, seriously. I slept like FOREVER!! And now I've got that buzzing drug head hangover going on . . . and it's almost 3 in the afternoon! Heavy duty stuff. Won't be taking it again, unless I'm looking to kill myself (a half dozen would probably be fatal).

I'm getting ready for another road trip. Off to Fredericton on the weekend to attend the Whiskey & Spirits Festival and interview an artist for BnM. From Fredville I head to Miramichi for the Silicon East 2005 conference. I should be home again by Tuesday or Wednesday next week.

Tonight I'm going to the Sackville Writers' Group meeting. Should really print something off to distribute to the group for discussion next time . . . should.


Mood: drained
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: David Bowie, China Girl
Hair: looking a lot like Matt Mays . . .

Rainy Day Tasks

Climbing out from under my rock and confronting the mess that is my inbox this morning. Fun, yeah!

But seriously, it's a good thing to delete, to file, to reply . . . It is piss-pouring rain here. Heavy rainfall warning in effect. Another tropical storm. Woke me up early, earlier than usual, drumming on the roof.

Household chores on tap. Somebody's gotta do it! The good faeries never seem to drop by my place. Maybe they are too busy taking care of the boys in the house. Those boys. Their dishes get done daily (they have a dishwasher!). Laundry happens like clockwork every every evening. Garbage hits the curb every week . . . there's faeries or something over there for sure.

Mood: wet
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: running water
Hair: yuck!

The Camster

Put in Singles dvd while I was eating my supper tonight. Intended to just watch while I ate and then pop it out, but you know me, I got sucked in. It's Cameron Crowe! What can I say? Impossible to pull out a half hour in. Cameron is a movie god. He's my favourite writer/director by far. I love everything he touches. Fast Times at Ridgemont High, Say Anything, Jerry Maguire, Almost Famous, Vanilla Sky -- the man is genius. I'm dying to see Elizabethtown. So I slipped in Singles and ended up watching the whole thing again. It's Seattle, early 90's, Pearl Jam does an awesome cameo . . . that's one thing about Cameron that makes him awesome, the music, the man knows music. His soundtracks are awesome. And I don't know if it's just me or people my age or what, but he's got this way of making all the stories feel like they're about me. I so identify with everything he writes. I enjoy his humour, his attention to detail, his dialogue, the way he portrays the world. His movies make me laugh, make me cry, sometimes rip my heart out and leave me for roadkill (Vanilla Sky!) but I'm helpless to stop watching. I always want more. I think if I ever made movies these are the kind of films I would be trying to do. So why am I telling you all this? Because tonight I put in Singles and it made me smile, made me think, made me relax, just made me feel good and I think that's worth noting.

Mood: comfy
Drinking: coffee/hot chocolate/brandy mixture that is quite yummy and inspiring
Listening To: Save the Last Dance for Me, Jon Bon Jovi & Tom Waits live
Hair: dunno if these locks will survive til TO or not

Third Show Announced for Toronto

Holy crap! Today Bon Jovi announced a third concert in Toronto for Saturday Jan 21st. Tix go on sale next weekend, the 15th. It took everything in me not to get more tickets to the second show (and there's still an auction going on for floor seats first 15 rows that I'm a little antsy about) . . . and now there is a third. I just keep telling myself that this credit card has to take me to Italy . . . the higher I run it up now, the further away Florence gets . . . THINK Italy, Kel! . . . Jersey Italian is not the same thing.

Mood: spacey
Drinking: coffee, water, brandy
Listening To: Just Older (Live)
Hair: seeing red

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Colour?

Your Hair Should Be Red

Passionate, fiery, and sassy. You're a total smart aleck who's got the biggest personality around.

What's Your Funky Inner Hair Color?

I've done red and enjoyed it before, maybe it's time to give it another go.

Cuttings

9.

At age twenty-nine, Katt got lucky.

A strange man picked her up hitchhiking. He drove out an old dirt road into the woods and parked the car. He pinned her under him and tore at her clothes, slapped her across the face and left bruises. He ripped into her skin and she bled. But Katt fought hard like a wild animal and crawled out of the car. He chased her, but she ran fast. She lunged into a stream and waded up to her neck even though she couldn’t swim a stroke. She ran through the silent night with the devil on her back. She collapsed at the door of a friend’s house. Banged with both fists until the lights snapped on. Her clothes dripped with bloody water. Katt’s friend dressed her in an oversized white shirt while he washed and dried her clothes. He stroked her and nudged hot tea into her hands. Katt trembled and chain-smoked. She shivered, sobbed, felt angry and weak. Katt wished she had been strong enough to kill the stranger and vowed to buy a switchblade.

-- Another excerpt from Katt's Lives

By the fall of '98 I'm almost done with it. But I don't know that yet. I don't know that within a month he will arrive from tobacco road to begin the final dance, to provide the final push into the abyss of madness. I don't believe I'll ever dance with that devil again. I laugh at the suggestion, and I'm serious. I left him for someone else. I left him for his best friend, his brother-in-law, best man at his wedding. I chose someone else. But out of sight, out of mind; he seldom enters my thoughts.

This fall I'm obsessed with another. I've been dumped, but not really dumped. He still comes around. He still calls. I still have hope. I'm still good enough for screwing. Though not good enough for his bed, only for hotel rooms and backseats and tall grass and truck bunks. I think I love him. I think he loved me too once. I don't want to think he only uses me now. I won't think that. I bury these thoughts behind drunk clouds circling my hazy mind. It is much more pleasant to believe sex is love. Even though he only shows up once every few weeks and stays just long enough to take his pleasure. Even though I've heard he's dating other girls. Even though I saw him touch someone else's hair, but he won't so much as kiss my cheek anymore. If it is truly over, why doesn't he leave me alone? If he doesn't care, why doesn't he stay away?

I'm sleeping less. I'm so wired from pills that even the few hours stolen each week are restless fits of tossing. Five minutes of shut eye feels like an eternity. Time is screwed up. I see every sunrise, every sunset, but I like the dark the best. Sunlight hurts my eyes.

I always have an open beer. Though this fall I'm also dipping into the whiskey because I realise I am able to drink too much beer, cases disappear on nights spent alone with no customers. Rye is a cheaper habit, more profit margin, and I'm spending way too much money.

A friend shows up to help with an event Saturday, work the door, empty the ashtrays, throw people out who piss me off. He doesn't understand how I deal with this hassle everyday and stay sober. I'm sober? Since when? I've downed 16 Alpine and it's only just 2 in the afternoon. I can't remember the last time I ate. I haven't been home since Wednesday. I'm wearing men's clothes -- too tight faded Levis, a large white denim shirt, cracked brown leather belt -- fresh clothes borrowed from the man who let me shower at his place this morning after the all-night card game.

I'm missing cash but I never bother to count it, so I have no idea how much. At least $80 maybe as much as $500. I've given up carrying a purse. I don't trust people not to steal it. I don't trust people not to rifle through it and take things without my knowing. I don't trust myself to remember I have it with me. Instead I carry thousands of dollars in my right front jeans pocket in case of emergency. I need $500 on me at all times, just in case, or I'm uncomfortable. I'm a little paranoid. I think the missing money fell out of my pocket but it's impossible to know for sure.

I'm working my way through my second pack of cigarettes. I just took another handful of pills with a shot of whiskey . . . and I'm passing for sober. In this place I am the boss and I'm passing as being in control. The weight of this shocks even me . . . and I'm wasted.

Weeknights are slow. Sometimes a few people show up, sometimes nobody at all. My mother calls every night to see if I want her to come take me home. I lie and say I have customers or I have plans or I have a drive with someone else. Every night I wait for him to call or show up. And every night he stays away. Most nights I don't want to be around people, which is good because most nights people don't want to be around me. I'm weary, sick of everything. Everyone wants something from me, but nobody is honest. The human race is disappointing. I'm sad.

After I lie to my mother I lock the doors, turn off the lights. I like the way the streetlight shines in through the windows. I like that I can see the outside, watch the parking lot and driveway, but nobody can see me. I am invisible in the darkness. The night is my favourite time, I walk all over town and through the woods and out to the river and nobody ever sees. By the glow of the streetlight I put my loonie in the jukebox. Madonna sings to me. I climb onto the pool table, lie on my back, staring into the rafters, and I cry.

Where do we go from here?
This isn't where we intended to be
We had it all, you believed in me
I believed in you

Certainties disappear
What do we do for our dream to survive?
How do we keep all our passions alive,
As we used to do?

Deep in my heart I'm concealing
Things that I'm longing to say
Scared to confess what I'm feeling
Frightened you'll slip away

You must love me
You must love me

My heart is broken. It hurts so much and no matter what I do I can't turn it off. I drink more. I party harder. I throw myself into event planning. I hook up with other boys. I crack jokes and smile a lot and drive people home even though legally I'm forbidden and undoubtedly impaired myself. Nothing helps. It hurts. And the hurting tires me.

This is my life that fall.

It's a weeknight when he comes in. Early in the week. Based on the clientele, probably a Tuesday. On Tuesday's I almost always go home and tonight I want to go home. I plan to go home.

He's a regular. A drunk. An alcoholic. No good. Everyone pities his wife at home with their new baby. He's also a friend of the guy I've been obsessing about, the guy breaking my heart, snapping my heart strings, tying them into knots. He's a little annoying but mostly under my radar, harmless, funny by times, not troublesome.

At closing he offers to give me a ride home. He's going my way. It's Tuesday and I want to go home, sleep for four hours before the insanity of weekend begins tomorrow and runs through until next Tuesday. My mind is preoccupied as we drive out the road toward the main highway. I'm thinking about things, not paying attention. My conversation is on automatic pilot, just general gossip and pleasantries, nothing serious.

He turns onto a dirt road and drives toward the river. I'm not alarmed. I know the man who lives in the house by this river. He is another friend of the man I'm in love with, and if he is home he might be having a party, and if he's having a party chances are good that the man I desire will be there. My surroundings come into clearer focus as I perk at this idea. But at the end of the lane the house is dark. Nobody home. And I fall into my disappointed thoughts.

He puts the car into park and turns off the engine. I think he must need to take a piss. He starts to talk. Damn! I'm the bartender and everybody dumps their problems at my feet. I climb further into my mind, turning over my thoughts while I nod and appear understanding.

When it happens I don't see it coming. It happens quickly. One second he is chattering away about what a pain his wife is but how much he loves his kid and in mid-sentence his lips lock onto mine as he lunges to the passenger side. But even this is not totally unexpected. This stuff happens. I'm the bartender. And guys think that means I'm up for grabs. It's an annoyance, but easily straightened out.

I pull away, put a hand on his chest. Stop. I'm sorry, but I'm not into this. You seem like a nice guy and all but I'm crazy about someone else and you've got a wife and kids and this isn't right and I'd just like to go home now, okay. This is the jist of the spiel. It works. Guys are surprised because they've heard rumours about me. They'll feed the rumour mill later when their friends want the juicy details about their encounter with me. Some guys I even have secret agreements with -- I won't tell anyone that we didn't do anything. Agreements I honour, answering with a smile and saying nothing when asked, rather than deny. What do I care about rumours? What do I care what people think? I know who I am and what I've done.

The spiel works. Usually. But not this time.

It happens so quick I don't even know how. One second I am sitting in the passenger seat, delivering the spiel, waiting for the apologetic response, and the sound of the ignition. Then I'm on my back. Pinned. Steering wheel cutting into my shoulder. Feet still touching the passenger mat. His tongue forces its way into my mouth and his hands snake under my blouse and invade my bra. It's so quick, I'm stunned, can't react. And when I do react I'm not understanding the gravity of this situation -- Hold 'er now! That's enough.

His fingers are like pincers on my breasts. He sqeezes and pulls and twists, hard -- You're hurting me. Let me up.

He ignores me, like I've said nothing. Slides a hand into my jeans -- Enough! Get off of me!

With both hands I push against him. But I can't budge him. Panic swells in my throat -- STOP!! NOW!

My jeans are undone, open, pulled onto my thighs, blouse pushed up over my face, he's undoing his pants, I hear the zipper, feel hot skin against my stomache . . . Oh my God! Oh my God! He's really doing this. Oh my God! I can't stop him. . . . panicked thoughts, prayers, tears streaming down my face and then a sickening realisation -- NO CONDOM! Oh my God! Disease! Pregancy! . . . If I live. If I god damn live! This is how girls die. This is how girls disappear. This is it. Oh my God! He does this and he won't be able to let me walk out of here. -- NO!! GET THE FUCK OFF ME!!

And I'm flailing, pushing, striking, screaming, when he slaps me -- Shut up, you fucking bitch!

This changes everything. And fear turns to anger at my helplessness turns to hate for this man. I will not let him violate me. I will fight him with my last breath. He will have to kill me first before he gets inside of me. I wish for a knife in my boot. If I had a knife I would gut this man and watch him bleed to death. I would tear out his throat and then walk on out of here and have a steak dinner to celebrate. I'm thinking these things as I go berserk striking with fists, biting, trying to kick, somehow getting a knee free and ramming it into his groin. He weakens and I go crazier, getting out from under him, opening the car door, grabbing my things and running in one fluid motion. This too happens so quick.

I run into the reeds. It's dark. And I like the dark. I'm used to running around the woods and the river when everyone else sleeps. I'm not afraid of the night. I'm quiet now, my heart drumming in my ears as I fly across the swamp in grass above my head. Slowed only by the occasional tripping over dead wood or into big holes that knock the wind out of me. When I think I'm far enough away, I hunker down and listen. Crickets, frogs, all manner of night things sing in the grass. I can hear the river just to my left. A big splash, not like a salmon jumping, maybe a beaver. There is a dam closeby.

I hear him cursing in the drive, staggering around, muttering to himself. He comes to the edge of the grass. Takes a couple of steps into the reeds and stops -- C'mon out and I'll drive you home. I didn't mean nothing by it.

Using his best voice, his sweet voice, but I know it's a trick. Focus on my breathing, keeping it slow and light. I remember playing hide and seek in the woods when I was a kid. I remember sitting behind a tiny hill, not even high enough to hide me. I sat there, practically in the open, and watched my cousin search for me. I stayed so still and breathed so shallow that she walked right up to me and didn't see me. She came so close to me that I looked her right in the face and smiled thinking surely I was caught. But I didn't move, waited for her to speak first. She didn't see me, never found me, gave up eventually and went in the house thinking I must've somehow snuck away and gone inside.

He's walking along the edge of the swamp, calling to me -- This is crazy! C'mon out now and talk to me about this. This is all just one big misunderstanding.

The more he calls to me and I don't answer, the angrier he becomes -- When I find you, you're gonna be one sorry bitch! Get your ass out here now or you're going to get it!

I don't move. Wonder at how far the main road is across country, through the swamp, can it even be gotten to this way.

He gets into his car and shines the headlights into the grass. If I stay still I won't give myself away. The grass is much too tall and dense to reveal anything hiding in its depths. If I panic and move, the grass will betray me, sway and show where I am. If I stay still I'll be safe. Unless he comes in here . . . I plot a retreat, just in case, I believe I can outrun him. But he's drunk, confused, not sure where I've gone, so I don't think he'll launch a full search of the swamp. Plus it's late and dawn comes in a couple of hours. He doesn't have time to roam the swamp on the chance that I might be in here.

He idles his car out the lane, stopping every now and then to listen or shine headlights into the woods. He continues to call me and to threaten. My plan is to wait him out. To slowly sneak out the lane behind him. Surely he will give up at the road and go home. Then I will walk back to the club and spend the night there. I come onto my feet and start sneaking up the hill, staying in the woods about 15 feet from the lane.

He's still driving slow, still calling to me out his window, and when he reaches the road he doesn't stop. He doesn't go home. Instead he turns and putters back toward the club. When his taillights disappear, I break from the woods and run down the road in the opposite direction, toward the main highway. I don't get far before I hear him coming back and I dive into the ditch and the woods beyond. He's serious about finding me. He's not going home. He drives back and forth from the club to the main highway, out the lane and back again, threatening me out his window. We're the only two people out here tonight and he knows it, he intends to wait me out, wait until daylight when it's easier to see me. And the longer this drags on the more angry and sober he becomes.

It's apparent I must take drastic action. I cannot wait him out. I cannot get out of here via the road. Again I wonder about the swamp and whether I can get through it to the main highway. I make my way back there through the woods. Navigating in the grass is difficult. It's like a jungle, stretching feet above my head and thick. I could use a machete to hack my way through. When I get out of here, I will acquire very sharp blades of all shapes and sizes and make them into my new best friends. I come across a chain link fence, can't get over it, can't go through it, and after following it for several minutes I decide I can't go around it. The swamp is fenced off from the main highway.

I'm tired and frustrated and I can still hear him looking for me. Night cover is nearly gone. The sky is lightening to a dark grey. I'm running out of time. I hear the river to my left and make for the shore. If I'm standing on the riverbank when he comes back and shines his lights, he will see me. This part of the river is not very wide and in summertime very shallow . . . it's fall. I can't swim. But I'm out of options. I wade in. One step and I'm knee-deep. The water is cold and moving fast. Another step and the water covers my thighs. The rocks are slippery under my boots. I need to be careful not to fall. I step and sink to my waist. My jeans grow heavy with water, weighing me down. The opposite shore is further than I thought. It's possible the deepest part will be over my head. Step and I'm in to my chest. The water is dark and strong. Another step and my shoulders go under. Oh God, am I halfway? Is this the deepest part? Difficult to stay upright. Step and my neck is covered, the river laps against my chin. At least if I die out here it will be on my terms. I think I understand Virginia. The river is powerful but also comforting. It would be easy to let my knees buckle and float away. In the next step I might be over my head and have no choice but to try to float or swim. I take the step and the water drops back around my shoulders. I hurry now, getting to the shore as quick as I can.

I am soaked through. The birds are awake and singing. I have very little time before full daylight and with it people going to work, getting kids off to school, going about their mundane lives as if terrible things haven't happened in the night. If he's still out there, I will be a conspicuous target. I run. This side of the river, doesn't have tall grass. The terrain is spongy, mossy, wet, slippery. But I don't slow. I run until my chest burns, until my ribs feel like they're ripping into my lungs, and then I run some more. I run as if he is right behind me. I can outrun him, I know I can. I zip across the marsh in my wet clothes. I climb the shale rock cliff under the overpass and hit the main highway at a trot. When I hear a car coming I run into the next yard and continue making my way through people's backyards. I hope nobody sees me. I hope nobody has dogs.

Within minutes I reach my friend's apartment building and collapse against his door, knocking. He is sleeping. This is a given. It's still a couple of hours before he will be getting up to go to work. I knock louder. I'm panicked, here, in broad daylight, in the open air outside his building with cars passing on the street. When the door opens I start sobbing uncontrollably. He pulls me in and locks the door. -- What the hell happened to you?

I can't talk. It's all gibberish. My teeth are chattering. I head straight into the bathroom to strip. He brings me one of his shirts and helps me undress. My clothes are filthy, full of mud and grass stains, stinking like the river. We throw everything into the washing machine. I get into the shower. I can't get the water hot enough. I stand under the shower head with my eyes closed and cry as the water massages my scalp and cascades over my body. I towel off, put on the big shirt, start the washer and join him in the living room. He shoves a cup of hot tea into my hands and makes me take a sip. -- Ok. Are you going to tell me what happened?

I don't say anything. I can't. If I say it out loud it will be real. Maybe I can leave it in darkness, leave it in the night. I don't even realise that I'm crying again until a teardrop splashes into my tea. -- Something happened. Somebody did something to you. Now, I want to know what and who.

He's upset by this. He's afraid for me. Angry for me. Ready to gather a posse and go hunt some people down. I set down my tea and go to him, climb into his lap, wrap my arms around his shoulders and burrow my face into his neck breathing in his familar safe scent. We sit on the couch and he holds me like that until he thinks I've drifted off and gets up to carry me to bed. When he lays me back on the bed he's surprised to see my open eyes looking at him. He whispers that he thought I was asleep and starts to leave. He's got to get ready for work but I don't want to be alone. I don't know if I can be alone. I grab his hands and pull him onto the bed with me, lay my head on his chest. He strokes my hair and tries again -- Do you want to talk about it?

I raise my head, rest my chin on his chest and look into his eyes -- I need your help. I need to buy a good knife. A hunting knife maybe. Something you'd use to gut a deer. But not too big, too heavy to carry. As long as it's sharp. That's all that matters. Sharp and concealable. Maybe a six or eight inch blade . . . .

What Part of Fall Are You?

You Are Warm Nights by the Fire

Peaceful and romantic. The best part of fall.

What Part of Fall Are You?

Valermo Drive

Nearest main intersection would be Horner and 30th, past Treeview though. The house is a bungalow, painted green, not dark but more like that seafoam green, all the rage this past summer for gowns and bridal attire. How is it that I can even remember this street? This house? I hated it there so much.

***************************************************************

He is 26 years old and has a few girls dangling. One is older, a tiny little thing originally from Newfoundland, short, dark haired, almost 40. She waitresses at the local bar and she's got a mouth on her, crude unlike any woman I've encountered up to this point. But she can sing like a beautiful bird, and sings with a band sometimes at the bar. This one has baggage, an on-again/off-again thing with an ex-husband or boyfriend, kids, physical abuse issues, etc. She wants to be saved from her wretched life. Thinks this young man is just the ticket. He likes her quite a bit too, but she's complicated, and he doesn't do complicated very well. Plus he's too damn logical, knows nobody can save somebody else they've got to do it for themselves. Just do it is his motto long before it catches on.

The other girl is around his age and they have a history, have dated off and on for a few years. Once seriously for a year and a half. This one has an exotic look about her, Greek maybe? Italian? Green eyes. Tall and curvy, thick, solid, wouldn't want to take a punch off her. Factory worker I think. Attitude up the wazoo! She proudly refers to herself as the "bitch", very outspoken, opinionated, downright snarky. And moody as hell. She lives up to the Scorpio image in spades. He likes her too. I don't understand why he's drawn to these rude and nasty women. But I suppose rude and nasty girls need someone to like them too.

There are others, but they don't rank. He's only seriously dating three girls.

I'm the third, the new player in this game and quite different from the other two. This one's only 18, a shy university student just in from down east, doe-eyed with innocence. I worship him. He is a god, the greatest thing to ever walk with two legs and I will do anything for him, anything to spend time with him, anything to make him smile. And he likes being the idol, likes the easy going way we get along with no sassy lip. Yet I'm just sarcastic enough to not be completely boring and I'm an apt pupil picking up on his sarc ways as fast as he can demonstrate.

I have no expectations, no aspirations, don't believe I figure into his equation or that I ever will, so I'm always present in the moment, enjoying his attention if I have it, off having fun with others if I don't. I hang out with him and his other girlfriends, sit in the back seat with friends while we drive them home, while he walks them to the door and kisses them good night. I don't get jealous, do not completely lose my mind, because I expect nothing from him and I'm happy to just be in his presence.

The girlfriends accept me as part of the group because they think I am his cousin, a convenient lie, easier than telling people the longer weirder story of how I came to live with a family of strangers.

For months, I am the only girl in the mix who knows about all the others (even the flings). Afterall, I live in his house. I'm the one in the dirt with the boys at the motocross track in Thornton on Sunday afternoon. I'm the one in the tattered peejays watching late great movies on City with him on weeknights. We're friends . . . who occasionally fool around, and that's okay. I don't care if we never fool around, I just want him to talk to me, teach me things, show me things, tell me I can do anything and make it true. I see other guys. Other guys come to the house and bang on my bedroom door in the middle of the night, scaring me. Other guys call and ask me to go dancing. Some other guys are cute and some I even like a little.

I know about his other girls . . . but they don't know about me. And even that isn't an intended secret, if anyone asks I'll tell them anything they want to know, but nobody asks and I'm not the type to offer details on my own. I'm good at holding onto things and keeping them for myself.

We hang out more and more until there isn't much time for anyone else. The older woman goes back with her abusive ex, quits the job at the local bar and moves out of the neighborhood. She just disappears.

The bitch sticks around and pursues. She calls and invites him to parties, to supper with her parents, to movies and concerts and many other things that he refuses. So then she calls just to talk. And then she eases on the pursuing and offers to be friends. Everyone hangs out again. More parties on Valermo Drive. The moment of total realisation comes during a party at this house. Everyone is trashed and he's passing out sitting upright on the couch. The girl and others are still going strong, the party is far from over, but he's been up for over two days working in the snow and is dead on his feet.

She tells him he can go sleep in her bed if he wants, since he is so worn out. I'm surprised when he says he can't drive home and yes, thanks, he'd love to sleep in her bed. She is a little surprised too . . . and a little smug. I'm surprised because we've been really close for weeks. He's practically moved into my bedroom. And though we haven't discussed anything, haven't had "the talk", I thought maybe . . . I'm a little disappointed. But not angry. Not hurt even. We've been winging it, no rules, and I still have no expectations. But I don't like being at this house on Valermo Drive. She isn't very nice to me, she thinks I'm some hick kid from the woods. She makes fun of the way I talk, especially when he's not in the room. And all this even though I know about her but she doesn't know about me. She's just not very nice, plain and simple, a bitch like she proclaims to all who will listen.

The idea of staying here all night, without him to unknowingly shield me from her hurtfulness just by his presence, with him sleeping in her bed is not appealing. I consider my options, start thinking about walking, about calling a cab, about a million other things.

And then he lumbers to his feet, thanks her again, says good night to all, grabs my hand and leads me off to her bedroom.

This is so not what she had in mind.

Long after he is snoring I lay awake listening to everyone discuss this scandal. A few times she says she's coming in to confront us but others talk her out of it. Others explain how I'm not the cousin, not related.

I'm the girlfriend, we all realise at once. She should've been nicer.

Mood: yawning
Drinking: water
Listening To: The Kinks, Everybody's Gonna Be Happy
Hair: drying natural

The Three Dimension Luck and Power Test

You Are Internal - Realist - Powerful

You feel your life is controlled internally. If you want something, you make it happen. You don't wait around for things to go your way. You value your independence and don't like others to have control. You are a realist when it comes to luck. You don't attribute everything to luck, but you do know some things are random. You don't beat yourself up when bad things happen to you... But you do your best to try to make your own luck. When it comes to who's in charge, it's you. Life is a kingdom, and you're the grand ruler. You don't care much about what others think. But they better care what you think!

The Three Dimension Luck and Power Test

Back Again!

I think I know what the hell has been wrong with me . . . well, a contributing factor at any rate. September blues have always been just part of who I am but I also haven't been dreaming. Does this happen EVERY September? I wonder. Anyway, I hadn't even realised it until I started dreaming again the night before last. Without my active dream life I think I go a little crazy. And I've been a little crazy this past month or so. But thank god! The dreams are back. Last night (well really late this morning, I've been taking non-drowsy sinus meds, so I'm a little antsy . . . in that wonderful amphetamine way I love so much) I tossed and turned and awoke every half hour from the dream . . . and it was freaking wonderful! I feel so much better.

In my dream there was a big Coughlan family reunion thing coming up, maybe a Christmas party. Mom was trying to convince me to go, but I had other plans, didn't want to go anyway. And this back and forth with Mom went on and on, the way it might have in real life years ago when Mom used to try to convince me to go to these things. And I kept waking up, looking at the clock and going back to it. But then the scene switched from Mom's house to Grammie & Grandad's . . . their big, empty, quiet house . . . and I remembered that they are gone, that I'm not 26 anymore, that I said I wasn't going to let certain family members keep me from anymore gatherings . . . and I told her I'd go. Then I woke up and made coffee.

Mood: a little high
Drinking: coffee with cream
Listening To: Bon Jovi, I Want to be Loved
Hair: feels like it's standing on end

Quick Meme

Not counting your computer, printer, other hardware, software or cables, list a dozen non-computer things on your desk or computer workspace.

1. Ricola Exhinacea Lemon throat drops
2. 591 ml bottle of Dasani remineralized water
3. Strunk's The Elements of Style
4. Photo album containing pics from Rolling Stones Concert Magnetic Hill
5. Alden Nowlan's Selected Poems edited by Patrick Lane & Lorna Crozier
6. A box of 100 white pushpins
7. Travel sewing kit
8. Small blue duster
9. Yellow plastic flyswat (for when the bats attack)
10. A photo of Paulina in pink frame
11. A plastic box filled with gemstones
12. A dozen spiral notebooks opened to random pages

Jovi Update

Tickets for Bon Jovi went on sale to the general public this morning and sold out in 1.5 minutes. A second show was added today . . . but I haven't been able to find any tickets. Cruising the fan club message board and seeing what sections other people have got, sections they think are good (but yet are WAY further away than the tix I got) . .. makes me think I DONE GOOD!! I've booked transport and lodging -- everything is all arranged. I can't wait to get back into the city. This will be the first time I'll ever go to Toronto and return home WITHOUT a plan to move there . . . this will be the first time . . . right? There is no way I'm going to convince myself in the dead of winter that uprooting and moving back to Toronto is something I need to do . . . right? This time, that's not going to happen. Surely to God I'm too old now to be moving halfway across the country on a whim. Surely.

Unless of course, Jon Bon Jovi himself asks me to move (do his kids need a nanny?) . . . but then I'd be Jersey bound, wouldn't I? Yes, so it's settled. I'll visit but there'll be none of this moving nonsense . . . no matter what.

Mood: excited
Drinking: still brandy . . . still not helping my illness . . . but what the hell, it's good stuff
Listening To: Matt Mays, Travellin'
Hair: still pulled back

I Am Amused

Got an amusing email from a fellow Sackville resident. She said her friends have been reading my blog and enjoying it very much, sending her emails even to discuss the details. Strangers, all of them . . . to me anyway. But her name is Kellie and she's 36. Her friends wanted to know how her novel was going. (They could've posted a comment and asked.) Ah! This makes me smile.

Welcome new friends, whoever you are!

Mood: still ill
Drinking: brandy, straight up (for all the good it does)
Listening To: party boys & girls in the drive readying to go to the bar (these kids cannot hold their liquor at all)
Hair: neatly pulled back