Movie Moments

I watched "Final Cut" tonight, a dvd starring Robin Williams. In the not so distant future implanted microchips record every single moment of our lives. When we die a "cutter" like Robin Williams character edits the footage of our entire life down to a 90 minute'ish memorial film. It's an interesting premise. Got me thinking about my footage so far. I tend to see my life in film terms anyway. I don't know why. I don't know if it's the way other people think about their lives, if it's normal. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I see my dreams like movies, and I have a lot of dreams. Or that I visualize a lot of things that come to pass. So in a way I'm planning a lot of the shots, rehearsing, before things happen. One of my exes used to say I saved things, that I never said anything until the situation I had planned to say it in came up. He'd never known anyone like that before. I hadn't really thought about it before, but it is what I do. Nobody ever noticed before him or if they did, they didn't call me on it.

Not that I'm very deliberately living my life, calling all the shots, planning every conversation. It's not like that, I just believe in the power of visualization, believe in anticipating predictable situations and being prepared. But the most movie-like moments of my life have all been unexpected, a surprise. And I don't know if other people don't have as many of these moments as I do or if they don't recognise them when they happen or if they just don't talk about it, but it really seems that I have quite a lot of movie scenes playing out in my life on a regular basis. And last night I was reminded of one of them when talk turned to questions of where I grew up and went to high school etc. I've probably written about this here already before, but here it is again anyway.

Eighth grade in the spring, we were hanging out a little bit with my cousin and her friends in Blackville. Being a year younger and from Barnettville, we were not exactly the first choice of friends by the popular stuck-up village girls but they didn't say too much on account of my cousin. I didn't care that they really didn't want us around because my parents would actually let me go to Blackville and stay all night at my cousin's house, where I'd get to go to all the Catholic Hall dances and hang around John's Take-Out and under the bridge and Herbie's Pool Hall and meet boys. I was very interested in any activity that would allow me to meet boys, could put up with a lot of crap as long as I got to meet boys.

I knew how to deal with boys. I understood boys. It was the girls I couldn't read. I expected more from girls I think. I expected them to be more open and honest, to mean what they say and say what they mean. My Blackville cousin and her friends didn't do this though. They said one thing and meant another.

For weeks my cousin complained about a boy who wouldn't leave her alone, who kept chatting her up and asking her to dance, no matter how much she'd ignore him and turn him down. It was all she talked about, how disgusting and creepy this boy was and how much she hated him. I went with her to the next dance and the boy was there. She pointed him out to me and hoped he would leave her alone. He noticed us, smiled and started walking over to us. She was freaking out, asking me to help her. He came up to us, said hello and then asked me to dance. I had zero interest in this boy but thought it might help my cousin if I danced with him, ended up dancing with him most of the night. It seems like we might even have made out in a dark corner for awhile or went for a walk or something. It was a long time ago, I don't really remember. But I do remember that my cousin was livid. She wouldn't even speak to me. I had betrayed her, stolen the boy, how could I have done this to her, yada yada yada. I just thought the whole thing was foolish, why go on and on about the boy being a pain if she really liked him? I mean if she couldn't tell me she liked him, who could she tell? I would've never given the guy a second glance if I thought she had any interest.

But that wasn't a movie moment, I'm off track explaining how that Blackville cousin never told me the truth about anything. The spring of grade eight my cousin and I were still friends (though that would change before school even broke for summer). Rare for us to be walking around Blackville, just the two of us without the brood, but late one Sunday afternoon I found myself alone with her walking toward Herbie's Pool Hall where I would disappear out behind and walk the tracks back to Barnettville. I believe this might have been a forbidden excursion, unsanctioned by my parents. It was about 4pm and overcast, ugly rain clouds boiling in the sky, that dead air that sometimes precedes a bad thunderstorm. I was in a hurry to get home before the storm, before supper, before Mom and Dad figured out I'd left the Barnettville Road. There were a few people standing outside the pool hall. I don't remember who all was standing there, though I knew everyone of them except him. Him, I remember. Hands in his jeans pockets. Jean jacket open. Light coloured snap shirt. Hair curling around his ears. Crooked nose. Dark eyes. Shy sideways grin. I thought he was the most adorable guy I'd ever laid eyes on. And he was looking at me. I don't know if I smiled, if I said hello, or if I was dumbstruck, but as soon as we were out of earshot I demanded to know who that boy was. My cousin shrugged like he was nobody special, said his name was Jeffrey, said he had a girlfriend already, said he'd never go out with somebody like me anyway. And I believed her. My heart sank.

Movie moment number two happened later in August, the summer before grade nine. Stacy and I went to the Chatham Exhibition. A Friday night seems likely, as that is when most young people go to the Chatham Exhibition. It was just the two of us, not sure how we got there, but we were wandering around playing games and getting on rides. It was very crowded and we knew lots of people, it seemed like everyone from our school had picked the same night to go. Walking through the crowd we turned a corner and found ourselves facing our arch enemies, a girl from our road and her best friend from Renous. We hated each other, but we'd still speak to one another, say hello, especially if we had something we could throw in the other's face like about a boy we'd gone out with or something. So when we came face to face all four of us flinched and pasted on our phoney smiles as we met up in the crowd. We said hello and then I noticed they weren't alone as the two boys (I believe Gary, my now brother-in-law, might have been one) stepped up alongside them. I saw him! Jeffrey! My jaw might have dropped. I'm certain my eyes went big. Huge intake of breath. May even have stepped back or flinched like I was punched. And Jeffrey looked equally as surprised to see me. Oh and how those girls preened and gloated that they were there with these gorgeous boys and we were there alone. I could not get away fast enough. It was terrible, but a movie moment.

Fall, grade nine, with the first school dance coming up. That was the year we were part of a church youth group and got to meet boys from White Rapids, Chelmsford and Millerton that we would never have met otherwise. For dances students were allowed to sign in one guest that didn't go to our school. Stacy had promised a boy from Chelmsford at our youth group that she would sign him into this dance. The only time we got to see those guys was once a month at our meeting. I didn't think he'd show up. I thought she'd be wasting her sign-in power on him. A friend of mine had convinced me to go out with a boy she knew at the dance, but I'd have to sign him in and he'd only come if his buddy could come.

The signing in thing was a really big deal, EVERYONE signed somebody in, whole gangs of drop-outs and kids from other schools would come to these things. Our best friend, Donna, had just started dating a new boy, Ronnie, that she was signing in. Our other best friend, Gloria, had just started dating her future husband, David, that she was signing in. There was nobody left in the school to sign in my date's buddy. So I convinced Stacy to do it. Convinced her the church group guy wouldn't show up anyway and my guy's buddy was cute, so why not?

I was excited about that dance. We were a little drunk when we got there. People were hanging around outside the school in the driveway. I remember making our way through crowds, saying hi to people we knew, when we came across a couple of guys from our road and they were talking about this idiot boy from Chelmsford that they wanted to beat up. It was the boy from our youth group! The one Stacy had promised she'd take to the dance. I felt like crap that I had talked her out of signing him in. I felt even crappier when I realised neither my guy nor his buddy showed up. We talked to the principal and tried to convince him to let us change Stacy's sign-in at the last minute, but he wouldn't let her. We didn't know what to do and the teachers were ushering everyone inside and getting ready to close the doors for the night. So Stacy told me to go on in and she'd stay outside with him, we'd hook up after the dance and go home. I felt like double crap! But there was nothing to be done about it. I was the last person admitted into the first high school dance Fall 1984.

I stepped into the loud music and flashing lights of the cafeteria. The place was packed. I stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs scanning the room for friends. Gloria spotted me and called out to me, waved. There were a whole lot of people standing around, surrounding the chairs my friends were sitting in. I went over, excused myself through the crowd, turned around to say hi and there he was! Jeffrey! With my friend Donna sitting on his lap. Not Jeffrey at all, Donna introduced him to me. This was her new boyfriend, Ronnie. I had been crushed seeing him with my arch rival, but I was even more crushed seeing him with one of my best friends. I didn't hang around long, a boy asked me to dance and I went off with him, spent the whole night dancing and kissing and smoking in the art room.

A few weeks later Donna asked me if I wanted to go out with Ronnie. She wasn't that into him and he was apparently interested in me. I said yes and the rest of course is history. I remember walking around that first night with him, talking about all the near meetings we'd had. When we finally met, finally got together, there was that excitement of being with someone new but there was also this feeling like "Ah, there you are." It was comfortable, like I had known him forever. From the moment we laid eyes on each other there was a sort of recognition. He felt it too. We talked about it later. He had tried to find out who I was but nobody knew or nobody would tell him. He nearly fell off his chair at that dance when I stepped into the circle. So we became somewhat volatile and mismatched sweethearts. My first real boyfriend. It lasted off and on and mostly on until I graduated and moved away. We're still friends, still talk, he still calls to wish me happy birthday.

We were supposed to be together for the time that we were, nothing more, nothing less. I know this because of the movie moments. They are unscripted, unplanned, and generally knock me off my feet. But they are strong indications that I'm on the right path, I'm where I'm supposed to be, I'm meeting someone important in my life. That's the way I see it anyway. It's the only thing that makes sense to me. And watching that movie tonight I would hope these would be the moments that would make it into my memorial film. If I was the cutter the Ronnie montage would be blips . . . him standing in front of Herbie's pool hall sneaking a shy look at me, his grin when he saw me at the Chatham Exhibition, the shocked look on both our faces when I stepped through the crowd at the school dance, him shivering on a chair in my kitchen, us kissing in my dad's car, us on my parent's living room floor, us on the step with his car parked at the edge of my driveway the outline of someone sitting in the middle, me sobbing as loud and hard as I ever have into my pillow, us asleep on the couch, us walking in the rain and holding hands, us pulled over on the 401, me standing in the window watching him drive away on Foch with tears streaming down my face, us sitting on cots in the basement having a serious discussion, him and Gary standing at the front of the United church . . . the whole thing would take 15 seconds and the music background would be a few bars of Islands in the Stream.

Mood: contemplative
Drinking: water
Listening To: my jaw snapping
Hair: still ponied, forever ponied until I take the scissors to the mess

Easter

Grey dreary day. Achy. Slept late. Wings in the oven for dinner with tossed romaine and slabs of pumpernickle. One glass of wine left in the bottle gifted to me last weekend. Yesterday's hike was fabulous. Chickadees landed on my palm and took seeds. One even lingered picking over the seeds until finding just the right one. Several squirrels. A beautiful golden retriever wet from a swim in the lake. Even a snake. Great conversation. Couldn't ask for a better afternoon.

A Bridget Jones moment enroute to dinner last night. Strutting along the sidewalk head held high, hair silky and flowing, face flawless and dewy, wearing high-heeled shoes, sheer black blouse, grey wool dress jacket, best new jeans, white gold and diamond K round my neck, carrying plant in full bloom for host gift, turning young male heads and feeling quite happy about it . . . a woman behind me on the sidewalk yells, "Don't look down!" Casually turning my head to see what she's talking about, smiling, keep strutting as I see a man on a roof, smile at him, step off the sidewalk, go over on my ankle, pitch forward onto neighbour's lawn landing on knees and one hand (other hand saves the plant), people rushing from all over to rescue me while I lay there laughing my guts out and trying in vain to erase grass stains off my not so new anymore jeans. No matter. I arrived fashionably late but alive and humbled. Had a great evening, super company, wonderful food and drinks. Very nice time. Thinking I should start inviting more people to my place. I'm not really equipped for big dinner parties, but one or two at a time should be feasible. It's been a difficult few months financially since the Toronto trip, but I should see the light at the end of the tunnel soon. And with more money I should be able to do more things. One would hope.

Stacy is coming in a couple of weeks for the weekend. I can't wait! It's going to be a jam-packed visit, lots going on. Frye Fest. Natural Healing Expo. Gigantic Flea Market. Much good food and drinks I'm sure. With any luck I'll have some cash by then.

Mood: splitting headache
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: nothing right now, just shut down itunes
Hair: ponied

Silver Lining

Beauty morning here on the Tantramarsh. Sunshine. Blue skies. Calm (that's relative, the day would perhaps be considered windy elsewhere). Thirteen degrees says Environment Canada. So my walk is on, not rained out. We're going to a bird sanctuary near Amherst. Apparently the birds will land right on fingertips and eat out of your palm. I wish I had a camera, I'd take pictures. My description later will have to do.

Sleeping problems last night, got up at 3am and went online played mind numbing games until after 4. Then returned to the sheets where I rolled around until nearly 6. Restless. Some pain in my legs. Couldn't get comfortable. Shifting pillows every few minutes. Mostly couldn't quiet my mind. Writing when I should be sleeping. Woke five hours later at 11. It's funny how I never set an alarm anymore. I just wake up after five hours, though sometimes more, which usually freaks me out.

What does one wear when visiting birds? Besides my worst shoes in case it's muddy.

Mood: excited
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Open Road, Bryan Adams
Hair: loose for now

Barely Listening

I can't open the bottle of Coke in my fridge. It used to be that nothing was too tight for me. I had the bartender death clutch, could unscrew (and screw ;-) anything. I'll try again later, but in the meantime I've used the last of the flat diet cola for mixing with mister jack daniels . . . and I did not have enough to offset the amount of liquor I had already poured onto ice into the tall glass . . . soooo, here I am, with one stiff drink.

I've been going through my blog, sequestering posts that could be something more, something publishable even. I've been inspired since the AGM weekend, maybe I haven't been wasting my time here, maybe there's something to this blog business. I've extracted over 97,000 words. That's right! Who knew? That's a big ass book. Of course it needs editing, rewriting, reworking . . . and the guts to try. I'm big on editing skills, a bit low on guts. But working on it.

Mood: nostalgic
Drinking: jacks & coke
Listening To: Cuts Like a Knife, Bryan Adams
Hair: could it be that i'll get drunk and pull a freida? all those women in the movies always look so sexy after they chop off their hair in a fit of passion

Grey & Blue

The day is grey outside, kinda blue in here. Partly weather caused, partly hormonal. Just a small case of the Blahs! Nothing major. Construction on the cocoon hasn't begun. No need to send in a posse. Indeed a brief walk might fix everything.

I've been invited out for a walk tomorrow afternoon followed by dinner, which is something to look forward to this holiday weekend. I may also have a sidekick to attend the local wine tasting event coming up in a few weeks, that I blew off a gig in Miramichi so I could attend . . . which means I've GOT to attend.

I'm feeling so blessed these days. Everything has fallen into place. When you step back and allow the universe to work its magic, things just happen. Sometimes I can't believe this is my life. I'm so far removed from where I used to be 10 years ago, even less time than that. Just the other day talking to Mom about painting I was reminded of painting the washrooms at the Power Track. My boy and I painted the ladies one night. Hah! What a disaster that paint job turned out to be! Neither one of us had ever painted anything before and we couldn't keep our hands off one another long enough to accomplish much anyway. Painted it green and it dried blue. And I think I just left it that way. Darren and I (but mostly Darren) painted the men's, which was of course a much better job, and a different kind of night. Sometimes I just want to call him up so we can argue about something silly. From there to here, who would've ever imagined I'd become all respectable? Who knew I could look after myself? I certainly never imagined, though I had hoped.

I've got to do some writing today, some writing that takes me back to more volatile times, to that bedroom again. I don't know how many times I will have to relive the heartbreak and humiliation before it will be done. I'm always surprised that I'm still able to summon tears when I go there. Because on the one hand I see it totally for what it was and I've forgiven myself for putting myself into harm's way like that, I've analyzed it to death and I know exactly what happened and more importantly why. Yet I'm still able to step back and feel the raw hurt, the fear and despair. I'm able to step into it like it was yesterday. I guess it'll just be that way until it isn't, until maybe I've got everything out of it that I can use. This seems to be the way of writers. A friend of mine seems to be doing the same thing, writing about the same girl over and over. Writing is the greatest healer, Magie said, and she was right. That's probably another reason why I'm a little blue today, because I know where the story's going. It's a little odd to be so sad and happy all at the same time though.

Mood: just okay, but happy
Drinking: coffee, the super cheap stuff (i will splurge and buy good coffee for stacy's upcoming visit . . . even tho she's not that into coffee, any excuse to splurge)
Listening To: Clocks, Coldplay
Hair: i'm seriously going to go at it myself . . . or i'll have to price cuts here, I cannot possibly lug this mop to Frye

Mooning

Feeling a little unmotivated and listless this afternoon. We're in the moon again, I won't bore you with the kazillion details, but we all know what the moon does to me. So, I've got a severe case of the yawns today.

What a beauty day! I just want to go sit outside, listen to music and drink . . . beer? martinis? something cold and refreshing. I just want to sit and not have to think. No such luxury. Lots to do.

Mood: shaky
Drinking: nothing, thinking wine with dinner tonight
Listening To: Heart Like A Wheel, Steve Miller Band
Hair: if it gets any thicker, my face will disappear

A Meme for the Day

1.Do you still talk to the person you lost your virginity to?: yes
2. What would you do with 1,000 plastic spoons?: put them in the cupboard for when the kids visit
3.What kind of music did you listen to in elementary school?: Grease Soundtrack, Saturday Night Fever Soundtrack, David Soul, Kris Kristofferson, Shaun Cassidy
4. What kind of music do you listen to now?: Everything except country, mostly alternative and folk rock
5. What is the best thing about your current job?: That I work from home
6. Are you against same sex marriage?: Absoutely NOT!
7. Have you been on a date in the past week?: Sadly, no
8. Where are you going on your next vacation?: I'm not sure, but Italy calls to me
9. Quote a song lyric: "Just victims of the inhouse driveby, they say jump you say how high."
10. Are most of the friends in your life new or old?: New
11. Do you own any furniture from Ikea?: No
12. Do you like your parents?: Yeah, my parents are okay
13. Do you live with them?: No
14. Where are you from?: Miramichi NB
15. Tell us about the last conversation you had?: With Jason via MSN. Letting me know when I called that Jenn was out for a walk.
16. Where do you see yourself in one month?: Right here, getting ready for mini-trip to Miramichi, to deliver workshop, to take workshop, to get my haircut, to check in at the office, to see the kids and my dog and everyone else
17. What is your favorite smell?: Lilacs
18. Do you consider yourself bi-polar?: DI could very well be . . .
19. What is the time and the outside temperature right now?: Dunno
20. Have you ever done anything vindictive to your coworker?: No
21. Have you ever gone to therapy?: Nope, but that's not to say I shouldn't have
22. Have you ever Played Spin the Bottle?: hah! yes. eons ago
23. Have you ever Toilet Papered someone's house?: oops! yeah. sorry wilson.
24. Have you ever liked someone but never told them?: The story of my life is liking people and NOT telling them, or telling them too late or too early. My timing sucks.
26. Have you ever had a crush on your brother or sister's friend?: Not so much. One of my bar boys was one of my sister's exes tho.
27. Have you ever been to a nude beach?: No. I'm not really a beach person.
28. Have you ever drank Jack Daniels?: All the time
29. Have you ever had sex on the beach?: The drink, yes. The actual sex . . . it's fuzzy, I think so.
30. Have you ever had a stalker?: Well, there was this one guy we had to lie and say I moved and nobody knew where
31. Have you ever been in love?: Once, many infatuations though, several purely sexual relationships
32. Have you ever gone skinny dipping?: I have, but not since I was a teenager
33. Have you ever laughed so hard you cried?: I have, the best feeling
34. Have you ever gone to a party where you were the only sober one there?: god no!
35. Have you ever been cheated on?: Yes
36. Have you ever had sex with one of your MySpace friends?: I don't have MySpace friends
37. Have you ever felt betrayed by your best friend?: never
38. Have you ever felt like you were just completely rhino raped?: hmmm, a little confused about this, but I'm going to say yes
39. Have you ever lied to your parents?: Hell yeah
40. Have you ever been out of the country?: I have but not in a long time
41. Have you ever thrown up from working out?: No
42. Have you ever gotten a haircut so bad that you wore a hat for a month?: No, I only had one intolerable haircut and I just had someone else cut it over again
43. Have you ever eaten three meals from three different fast food places in one day?: I'm pretty sure I probably did when I lived in Toronto
44. Have you ever gotten so wasted you didnt know what was going on? Yeah, it happens
45. Have you ever spied on someone you had a crush on?: Yes, but not in a really long time
47. Have you ever seen your best friend naked?: no.
48. Have you ever fell in love with someone elses partner?: not in love, in like or lust tho
49. Have you ever had your heartbroken by someone you love?: Yeah, I've been the blubbering broken-hearted way too many times
50. If you could change anything that has happened in the last six months would you?: Nope. Probably not. Cuz today is a beauty day and I'm happy and I wouldn't want to mess with that.

Mood: happy
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Start Me Up, Rolling Stones
Hair: low pony

Another Manic Monday

Back to the real world then. And a crush of work. Overwhelming. At least I was too tired to have the usual battle with Sunday Night Axiety. It seems to have hit me full in the stomach this morning though. How do you spell diarrhea? I've got an issue of bnm online long overdue, bnm print needs things asap, wfnb PR, housecleaning, a walk, errands, laundry, unpacking, and somewhere in there I need to find time to write something creatively for me, personally.

The dilemma is if I put the creative writing first, if I get started, I won't want to stop. I want to go all day. And I no longer have the luxury of doing that. If I leave it to last I never get to it. If I start it somewhere in the middle I have problems getting into a creative headspace. I know I need to start doing it first, and I need to be disciplined with my writing time, limit myself to an hour or so. It shouldn't be so hard to do the only thing in the world that truly makes you happy. One would think once you've identified the thing that brings peace to the world that the rest would be easy. Not so. But I'm going to really try harder. I have to. This not producting work thing is becoming ridiculous.

Mood: whipped
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: One, Johnny Cash
Hair: Dunno as I can wait til May to chop, tempted to go at it myself

Inspiration

Late last night someone shot off fireworks right outside the bedroom window. The room flashbulbed white light. At first I thought a car had exploded at the lights. But fireworks seem more logical and there was no evidence of an explosion. I woke early this morning and found something to read for the open set, an earlier blog entry actually. I shortened it somewhat and cleaned it up a bit for pacing and clarity. A post about when I was forced to enter that beauty pageant. Now we can move on from seedy motels to beauty queens. It seems logical to me.

The open set at the Ice House was actually quite nice. I wasn't too excited to be going there, but for the size group we had, it really worked. I am so lucky to know all these people. I feel so fortunate sometimes to have so many talented and remarkable people in my life. The readings were a brilliant cap to an amazing weekend. I so enjoy hearing everyone's work. I was surprised by the way everyone responded to my piece. They laughed really hard. They really seemed to enjoy it. I read half the first go round the table and then the other half on a second round. At the end they were all laughing and even clapped. Kind of wild. Everyone said I should be trying to publish that stuff. I've never really thought of it as "real" writing. I've never had so much encouragement at one time as I did this whole weekend. At every turn someone was telling me how much they enjoyed things and how much I needed to focus and seek publishing. I'm actually inspired by it. I'm feeling really good about my work so far, the work left to be done.

On the ride home I was told people are worried about me, worried that I'm working too hard on other things and not working hard enough on my own writing. They told me the woman they'd sat with at the banquet just kept saying that I needed to do nothing but write, nothing, just write all the time. Of course, one needs to also pay the bills. There is always that. I do need to strive for better balance though. I know I do. And I'm feeling inspired to do something about it. I feel like I can. This feeling may disappear in a day or two, but for now, it feels really good.

Jan and Marilyn were kind enough to give me a little sightseeing tour of the area when we arrived back in Sackville. I had no idea there was a huge beautiful lake so close by. I knew of the lake, but thought it was way off in the woods, not within walking distance! And there's a beach! With swimming in the summer. How cool is that? Every day that passes I fall more in love with this town. I decided last week that I will buy a house here. Now don't get all excited, it'll take years I'm sure to find the right house, to be able to finance such an endeavour. But where there's will there's always a way, and I've got the will. How odd.

Mood: happy and light, optimistic and excited, inspired
Drinking: diet cola
Listening To: Wake Up, Waltham
Hair: brown scrunchy

Saturday Goes Down Too

Good day today. Felt better after finally getting some sleep. Different kind of day because I didn't go to workshops or the meeting. I helped set up, sold books, tried to run a sound system, and other little odds 'n ends. Lunched with the crew at Dimitri's. Record book sales! Met lots of new people, saw some people I haven't seen in forever. I ran into a woman I only met once, many years ago, and she still remembered the story I read. That was pretty cool.

Lee accompanied me back to the warehouse when we had time before the banquet. My witness to the insanity here! Neither one of us know the city well enough to find friends. We cleared a space and talked about music and plays and books while I ironed and dressed, spending a quick hour before heading to the party. I realised too late that the dress pants I packed are a little bit too big. Brand new. Purchased at Christmas. Worn once. Expensive. Dammit! But I've apparently lost weight. I had thought I've gained recently. Needed to wear a belt. Like NEEDED to! In order to keep the pants around my waist. That's insane.

Long evening! Food was a long time coming, but very good once it arrived. We had no problems occupying ourselves though. I nearly snorted wine out my nose several times from all the laughing. Met Elizabeth's husband for the first time. He's wonderful. I want them to come to Sackville and visit. Drink much wine and laugh with me. Take me out to continue the quest for the perfect Irish man. Perhaps at a seedy motel, who knows. I kept thinking that's how Jenn and Jason will be in a few more years. The high school sweethearts thing works every once in awhile.

Great readings. Sketchy sound system. But we got through it. So far it's been a really enjoyable weekend. Went for drinks at the hotel after the banquet. Met a handsome man with dark hair. Whenever this happens I always wonder if it's him, the predicted one, but no, this one was married. And much too quiet I think to sweep me off my feet. I so hope the prophet wasn't embellishing that part of the prediction, because I'm ready to be swept. It's seriously high time. I have my doubts such a man exists though, I'm not easily swept away. But I would never say never about anything.

I've got that buzz in my head. The one I get when I'm around creative souls. It's nice.

Mood: better
Drinking: nothing right now, red stuff all night
Listening To: street noises, much louder here than at home
Hair: that's it! I can't live like this any longer! Going short, last weekend of May!

Friday Night Down

Getting sick sucks. Readings over. Pretty good event I think. Well attended. Only a few mistakes. I was too looped to know whether it worked or not. It's a rainy night in Freddy. Cold inside. Warmer out. But wet. I need sleep. I need for my horoscope to stop being so fucking right on. I need to write something. But not here.

Mood: tired
Drinking: nuttin, shiraz earlier
Listening To: nothing
Hair: long and loose

Two Plus Hours and Counting

Leaving for Fredericton and a weekend in the company of writers in about two hours time. They said they'd pick me up around 9:30. I am a bit zonked. Could not sleep last night. The last time I looked at the clock it was 4:30. Tres disturbing numbers to see when you know the alarm will buzz at 6:07 and you have to rise no matter what. I couldn't stop thinking about hosting the event tonight. Last year, in Moncton, I wasn't nervous . . . I don't think I had enough sense to be nervous. But Moncton is also a different town than Fredericton. Different attitude. I'm more at home in Moncton. Fredericton seems cold in comparison. And the line-up of authors is a bit stunning. And I suddenly realised I haven't really thought about what I'm going to say. I don't have any material. No jokes. What the hell!

And to top it all off, I'm feeling sick. Sigh. No, I mean like sore throat, headachy sick, not stomach nerves sick. Like I'm taking the flu or something. Nice. Hopefully, it's nothing that a few glasses of wine won't clear up. I haven't had any wine all week. I think that's why I'm sick! A glass a day keeps the flu away.

Anyway, the thing that was bothering me the other day has worked itself out, for the time being anyway. So, I don't have to make a special trip home. I'm not planning on going again until the last weekend in May. I should be in super duper kid withdrawal by then.

I'm off! Have a good weekend. Wish me luck!

Mood: jittery
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: This Year's Love, David Gray
Hair: drying naturally

Another Meme

1. Yourself: stressed
2. Your Lover: non-existent
3. Your Hair: greying
4. Your Mother: aging
5. Your Father: stubborn
6. Your Favorite Item: dvds
7. Your Dream Last Night: multiple
8. Your Favorite Drink: wine
9. Your Dream Home: rustic
10. The Room You Are In: lofty
11. Your Pet: hairy
12. Who You Are Now: starving
13. Who You Want to be Like Ten Years From Now: angelina
14. What You Want to be Ten Years From Now: content
15. What You're Not: organised
16. Your Best Friend: computer
17. One of Your Wishlist Items: travel
18. Your Gender: lass
19. The Last Thing You Did: coffee
20. What You Are Wearing: navy
21. Your Favorite Weather: sunshine
22. Your Favorite Book: many
23. The Last Thing You Ate: chips
24. Your Life: okay

Where Do I Belong?

You Belong in Paris

Stylish and a little sassy, you were meant for Paris. The art, the fashion, the wine, the men! Whether you're enjoying the cafe life or a beautiful park... You'll love living in the most chic place on earth.

What City Do You Belong In?

I Want A Fucking Cigarette

If I thought the remaining kid next door had anything to smoke other than hallucinogenic substances I'd be over there begging him for a smoke. I'm so not kidding. What a night! What a stupid crazy nuts night! Thank goodness I decided to pick up a half dozen sweets at the store today. I NEVER do that! My subconscious psychic abilities must've been working overtime. But now they come in handy for comfort.

My mother would be very upset if she thought I aired the family laundry in public . . . Oy! So, out of respect to my mother, I won't. I thought when I moved out that I would gain the peace of mind of not knowing that my sisters have. That I could stop worrying about my family making the RCMP headlines for heinous crimes. NOT that there wouldn't be a need to worry mind you, but just that I'd be out of the loop on a situation I can't control anyway . . . no such luck, babe! How many times can I say OY! in the same fucking paragraph? Oy!

And somehow this is worse, this worrying from a distance, being half in and half out of the loop. God dammit! If I didn't have to be in Fredericton this weekend, I'd be enroute to Miramichi. I may have to go next week anyway, find the cash up my ass somewhere. We'll see what becomes of the weekend.

And for now, I drink and I think and I crave cigarettes and I pray nothing really bad happens.

Mood: angry, upset, worried
Drinking: jack and coke
Listening To: Godiva's on tv
Hair: loosely pulled back

Details

I do not want to write another word on couples. On the words they tell each other. On detail. I have no interest in this. I want insight. This All Happened, Michael Winter

This speaks to me. Details. They drive me nuts. And even more than the details themselves, the people who demand them. They get on my ever-loving last freaking nerve. Big time. Maybe I'm odd (oh yeah, I'm certainly a little odd) but I lose interest in novels with too many details. I've stopped reading books after learning the main character was blonde when I had imagined a brunette. Should the author have mentioned the blonde thing a bit earlier in the story? Perhaps . . . but here's the thing--if there's not some really important reason for the character to be blonde (like a botched dye job) what the hell is the difference? Let me have my brunette for godsake!

It rattles me when someone asks questions about what characters look like in my stories. Because if it doesn't matter, I don't tell. The detail seekers also get quite perturbed with me when I won't tell, when I reply, "What do you think?" I want the reader to have a unique experience. I mean that's what I want from a book. I can't handle a book that leaves nothing to my imagination. Show me so much, but leave me something to contribute.

I realize this aversion to details in my writing is a natural extension of my personality. I'm the kind of person who just wants to know enough so I can go and get it done. I don't want to make a list. I don't want to weigh the pros and cons. I don't want to sit around and talk about it. In one sentence tell me what needs to happen and I'll jump in. I'll make mistakes, change course, switch gears accordingly, but I'll keep on it until it's done. That's the way I live, through trial and error. Detail people do prep work to lessen their chances of error. They don't do well on the fly, are easily shaken when something unplanned drops into their schedule. They are prepared and don't like to just go with it. The world needs all kinds. Sometimes I wish I had more patience to make lists and plan things out. And I'm sure the detail people sometimes wish they could think quicker on their feet.

Whenever I think about this I'm reminded of philosophy classes at Ryerson. I didn't really understand different personality types back then. I was just a kid. All I knew was I wanted to beat my head off the desk most of the time. I had this really great prof in Philosophy of Art. I loved that class! I just wanted to suck that man's mind dry. I wanted as much info as could possibly be crammed into the hour or two class. We could not progress fast enough to please me. But there were a whole lot of obsessive note-taking details freaks in that class. And they drove me crazy. We wouldn't get anywhere, halfway through the first background point with a dozen more to go before we could get into the meat of the discussion, when their hands would fly up and the questions would start . . . And it all seemed so logical and simple to me, blood vessels bursting in my brain as I screamed in my mind, "For godsake! It's just Plato's theory! It is what it is and it doesn't matter if he was right or wrong, that's not what this is about. Accept the theory, so we can get to the point."

Those kids annoyed me big time. They talked about these ancient dead philosopher's theories as if they could change their minds. The point of the class was not to poke holes in the philosophies. And I wanted to get to the fun part, the point of the class, the part where we'd look at paintings and sculptures and discuss what the different philosophers would have thought about them. Instead we'd spend most of the class trying to get a bunch of people to accept each philosopher's premise. It was the most annoying class I ever took and I wrote the best essay of my academic life for that prof. I just got it and I got it quickly. There were some people in that class who should've signed up for psych or soc or something though, philosophy was so not their thing.

*****

No dreams tonight. I've been thrown by the time-change, staying up later and later, and tonight I made the colossal mistake of taking the non-drowsy sinus meds instead of the sleepy ones. So there you go. No sleep means no dreams. Non-drowsy meds mean a tingling head, dry mouth, nervous energy, and so on. Sometimes I miss the drugs of the truck driver trade. Sometimes I miss not sleeping. Imagine how much I could get done. But alas my chemical fund has dried up and blown away.

*****

I have a crush on Delia's rabbi on Everwood. If I could ever find a nice Jewish boy I think I might convert.

*****

This weekend is WFNB AGM weekend in Fredville. I'll be heading that way on Friday. I'm to emcee the opening event on Friday night at Brewbaker's. Lots of people reading from their latest books. Saturday is workshops, the business meeting, the banquet etc. I'm going to help out rather than take workshops. I'm a little workshopped out right now . . . though I've got Austin Clarke coming up at the end of the month during Frye Fest and an intensive one with Sandra Phinney in Miramichi sometime in May. I just didn't want to get bogged down into the full schedule of things at the AGM. Instead, I'll help with registrations and at the book table, etc. It'll be maybe a bit more relaxing and less brain strain. Hopefully, I'll get to see some people I haven't seen in awhile and have a great time. The AGM is usually pretty good fun. I can't recall one where I didn't have a good time, though this is the first year for me being on the Board. That could have an effect.

*****
I love this Black Eyed Peas song with the Pulp Fiction music. You just can't not dance. It's been too long since I went out dancing. I think The Constantines played George's Roadhouse tonight . . . or is it tomorrow night? I really need to bite the bullet and go to something on my own. I can't just sit here and wait for someone to invite me out. NOBODY KNOWS I'M HERE! Of course, money is a big problem right now anyway. It costs money to go out. To go anywhere, other than the usual walk about town that I do everyday anyway.

Mood: oddball
Drinking: orange pekoe (but not king cole)
Listening To: Pump It, Black Eyed Peas
Hair: brown scrunchied

Step-Mom

Last night was one long dream, a mini-series, instead of a bunch of vignettes. In the dream I had a new boyfriend. Couldn't really see him very well, not enough to recognize him if I see him in the street today, but he had dark hair and was sort of average-sized not overly tall or short, fat or slim.

We'd been together for awhile because we were living together. I think it was his house because it wasn't the sort of style house I'd be likely to buy on my own, but it was a nice bungalow, very bright and modern. He was divorced. Two kids. A girl around 8 years old and a baby about 18 months. I could see his ex-wife more clearly. Tallish, slight, blue eyes, blonde bob, working mom, dressed in stylish suits. I've had divorced boyfriends before and this ex-wife was not like any of the ones I've encountered in the real world. She wasn't psychotic. Her children were her biggest priority. She was reasonable and grown-up. Polite to me, grateful even when I would take the girls at the last minute if something at her work came up unplanned.

I caught a few minutes of a sitcom last night, The New Adventures of Old Christine I think it's called. I also watched that one with Henry Winkler this weekend sometime. And in both of them the couples are split but get along with each other and any new partners that enter the mix. I think that's where this dream was coming from, because certainly it hasn't been my experience that women are okay with me being around their husbands or kids.

As mini-series go, this dream sucked big time, a real yawner. It was like a month in the daily life of a functional new family. A few minor spats because the kids wanted to stay a little longer and weren't ready when their mother came to get them, but otherwise smooth sailing. And you'd probably think I'd welcome the lack of drama, be more rested from total immersion into one long straight thought rather than the bumpy ride of blips that usually take hold. But no, it's still an exhausting process. I still wake more tired than when I went to sleep. Boring is tiresome too.

Mood: frantic
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: just the hum of the computer
Hair: somewhere in this mess lies buried a beautiful head of hair

Juno Night

Honest to god, why do they insist on letting Ben do these red carpet things? He made a complete idiot out of himself with Pamela Anderson. Such a joke that she was hosting anyway. The sound quality on some of those performances was terrible. Kalan Porter needs to freaking eat something! The boy is anorexic or something. Rex Goudie is the sweetest. Jacob Hoggard just gets weirder and weirder. I loved, loved, loved Coldplay (though they had some sound problems). Black Eyed Peas was the most enjoyable performance for me. And what a night for Michael Buble! And the whole thing wrapped up by 10pm. Only in Canada.

Mood: insane
Drinking: nothing
Listening To: some sort of infomercial on tv telling me how to lose weight without starving or setting foot in the gym . . . eat more, exercise less, virtually impossible to fail, lose the weight in 6 weeks . . . blah, blah, blah . . . hmmm, is that a moneyback guarantee . . .
Hair: beyond redemption

Tasty Freeze

What was the name of the dairy bar on Lakeshore just east of Dixie Road? Was it the Tasty Freeze? Or am I confused with song lyrics? I'm sitting here with the skylight open, spring drifting in, and I'm reminded of nights when we'd go for ice cream when we couldn't sleep. Oddly, those nights happened most often in the dead city heat, when the act of simply lying on the floor naked in front of the fan did nothing to ease the discomfort of thick air, slick sweat soaked body. Not beautiful breezy nights like now. I think I'm reminded of those sticky nights now because I used to long for cooler air, dream about it, spend hours lying around and thinking about home. With no air conditioning, sleep became impossible during the heat wave, no matter how exhausted you'd get. We'd enter into this surreal state of being, sluggish existence, with little talk, no relief. The banana split would melt as soon as we left the air conditioned shack.

To escape we'd usually go driving. North. With the windows down. Q107. I'd lay across the seat, bare feet in his lap, resting my head on the door, staring into the sky, hair ruffling in the wind. If we went far enough there would be stars. Sometimes we'd go to the drive-in. Sometimes we'd just drive around. Sometimes we'd talk about moving north. Most times we'd just drive. We didn't need to talk. Being together was always enough, especially when you could breathe.

Mood: nostalgic
Drinking: water
Listening To: I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For, U2
Hair: still doing that 50's thing

Dream Themes

Cars one night, something else the next. And the dreams continue. Last night's dream theme was definitely exes. In the first dream, my high school sweetheart came to visit me here in Sackville. Odd for him to show up. In the dream we were teenagers again and wild and impulsive (well, I was wild and impulsive at least, you know him, he was always trying to reign me in). It was actually good to see him, to talk about foolish things, to make-out in public like the teenagers we were and not care what people thought of us. It was a butterflies in the stomach type of dream, like the first time I saw him in the spring, like that first fall we were together. Oh to be young and in love! Without all the crazy hormonal teenage angst mood swings and drama. But to hold that one moment in 1983 when we were perfect and stretch it to eternity, that's something, that's what this dream felt like.

In the next dream I found myself at the Long Branch GO Station, waiting for the train to Union Station, where I would catch the VIA Ocean train to New Brunswick. I had just missed the last GO Train and had to wait for an hour or so for the next one. Then Kevin showed up. This dream was not as playful, not as freeing. No butterflies. Which in its own way is kind of odd because all the best butterfly dreams centre around Kevin usually (or Jon Bon! lol). The feeling of this dream was . . . dread is probably the best word. I dreaded seeing him. I had hoped to get away before he got there. He wanted me to meet a girl, his new girlfriend. She seemed pleasant enough, nice actually, down-to-earth, nurturing, the kind of woman who would make a good wife and mother. And he seemed so happy. They looked good together. I was happy for him of course, but also sad. I could tell they were going to last, that we were really over. And this realization hurt me some. I woke up a little bit sad, took awhile to shake it off.

I also dreamed about the boy who took me to my junior prom, the boy I worked with at the pet store, the boy I worked with in Moncton, and numerous other cuties that I haven't thought about in years. Obviously, the spring weather has driven me a little boy crazy. Maybe I need to go out and find a real one. Yeah, that thought knots my stomach up pretty damn quick. Maybe another day then.

Mood: wired
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: traffic, birds, wind, kids playing, all the sounds of spring
Hair: loosely knotted

Where Is the Moon?

Like seriously, is the moon new or full or waning or doing something else crazy? Again? So soon? Because the dreams are killing me . . .

I'm way back Cains River, a little bit off the main road on what I guess must be a logging road. Not sure why I'm there alone but I need to get out of there. It's awhile ago. I'm a teenager. I can tell by the jean jacket I'm wearing, it's all written up on the inside with signatures and song lyrics and poetry. It's a gorgeous morning, warm, breezy, and no mosquitoes (which is total fantasy if you've ever been back Cains River in the morning . . . or anytime for that matter). I'm thinking about walking back to Blackville but it's really far so I'm laying in the bushes reflecting on my choices when a red Ford '70's half-ton truck pulls in behind me. A man gets out, mid-twenties, about 6'1", slim, short spiky dirty blonde hair, greasy, a mouth full of braces or rotten teeth, wearing a white Rush muscle shirt, some sort of tattoo on his bicep, cigarette in his mouth, dirty workgloves on his hands. He's dumping garbage off the tailgate. I jump up and scare him a bit, but I want a ride back to civilization, I'm desperate. So I say Hi, nice day, what are you doing, etc. I'm confused about how he got behind me on this logging road. Want to know where he came from. Is there another main road on the other end? Am I close to Rogersville? Dupres Lake? Blackville? Where am I exactly? And he's evasive. Twitchy. The more questions I ask, the twitchier he gets. Then I remember someone telling me about people disappearing back Cains River, about families living back there in the woods, nobody knew where, kind of cultish communes, and it occurs to me that he's one of them. I shut up. Thank him for his help. Start backing away toward the main road, determined to walk to Blackville. The CB radio in his truck crackles with static and someone calls to him, says something I can't hear. I speed up. When I get to the road and out of his line of sight I start running, just as I hear his truck start up, pull out and come after me. I dive for the treeline and . . .

I'm at a costume party at an old country farmhouse. It's like a scene out of Anna Karenina. My dress is heavy, so many petticoats. Everyone's dressed to the period and the group assembled are all writers and literary types. Marilyn and Jan host, though this is not their house. The farmhouse has high ceilings and antique mahogany tables filled with trays of fresh fruit, cheeses, breads, vegetables, goblets of wine. I can smell pork and salmon cooking somewhere. It's the height of summer and the countryside is burning down. The stench of smoke invades everything, my clothes, the curtains, my hair. I can look out any window and see flames, black smoke in the distance. It's a lazy day. People drift from room to room barely talking, nibbling on things. A very quiet gathering, soft music (Mozart?) wafting in from somewhere, everyone lost in their own thoughts. I could sleep I'm so lazy from the heat, the wine, the heavy dress. Marilyn enters the room, sees me and comes over. Gives me a welcoming hug, tells me she's so glad I could come, she's found the perfect thing for me and has been waiting to give it to me. She takes me out back to a guest house (cottage). It's full of books - on shelves, stacked on tables, piled on the floor. Old hard covered treasures. Shakespeare. Keats. Blake. Chekhov. Kafka. Dickens. Marilyn mutters and searches for the book she wants me to have while I thumb through all the titles in amazement. "Aha!" she says and hands me a sheaf of yellowing papers. Writing from another time. Longhand text. A story maybe or a section of a longer work. "Never published," she whispers. I skim. Notice the author's name. Henry David Thoreau. I gape. Someone calls Marilyn just then and she excuses herself. I'm stunned. I follow her to the doorway and watch her cross the backyard to the main house. The smoke has thickened. I can hear the fire snap. Sparks start to fall like rain on the back lawn. People run out of the house yelling, warning. I look up and the rafters of the cottage are all ablaze. Holy Shit! Without thinking I run back into the room and start gathering books, trying to save them. I can hear the house collapsing around me. People screaming for me to come out . . .

I'm sitting at the bar in Avenue at the Four Seasons, facing the door when Jon Bon walks in, scans the room, sees me, smiles and comes over. We hug and kiss cheeks in greeting. Old friends, me and Jon. Wasn't it just last summer he had me stay over at his house for a month or so? Wasn't it just months ago we were driving around with Richie and Heather? So good to see him again. He's wearing a tan brown coloured leather jacket, white shirt with the top buttons undone, gold chain around his neck, faded jeans like latex and worn brown boots. He guides me by the elbow to a table in the private VIP room. Very nice decor. Simple, yet elegant. Away from prying eyes. We order a bottle of wine and appetizers. I ask about the tour, how his kids are making out in school, how everyone else in the band is doing. I'm genuinely interested. I care about him, he's a dear old friend. We talk about my writing, creativity in general, hopes and dreams, what's going well in our lives and what's going not so well. We're very comfortable together, can talk about anything, everything. Eventually I ask about his wife and he goes quiet for a second, brow furrows. Then he smiles and blurts it all out. The reason he asked me to meet him tonight is because his marriage is over. They tried but they can't work out their differences. It's for the best really, he hasn't been in love with his wife for quite a few years now. I'm shocked. They seemed like the perfect couple, the fairytale romance. He continues, saying he's tired of being the rock star. He can't handle another day of being under constant public scrutiny. He wants out. He wants to run away, to hide, to just disappear. He's all worked up about it. Very emotional. Glossy eyed. And it breaks my heart to see him like this. He wants to come back to New Brunswick with me, take a break, get lost in the small town. I say sure, anything he wants, we'll work through it, I'll help. He's welcome to stay as long as he wants. I can probably even set him up in my uncle's camp on the water, so he can be alone, think things out. I pat his hand. There, there. He coils his fingers in mine and squeezes my hand, looks into my eyes, "No, you don't understand. I don't want to be alone. I want to be with you. I'm in love with you." I laugh nervously. But he's serious. I can see it in his eyes. Intense blue. Oh God . . .

There's a new girl living on the Barnettville Road. She looks like Jennifer Jason Leigh, circa Single White Female, with a bleached blonde pixie cut. She's way out of hand, wild and unruly. So of course she lives at Marty's. Lee has a crush on her. All the boys on the road are screwing her or trying to. She drives a four door white Crown Victoria with red leather interior. Parties all the time. They say she'll do anything with anyone for a little bit of weed or a bottle of beer. She likes to tease, flirt, with the boys, with girls, old, young, she doesn't discriminate. I warn Lee to stay away from her, but of course he doesn't listen. She lures him onto the road with a wink and a giggle. Then she and the boys she's partying with laugh as they chase him with the car and spin rocks at him. At one point I look out the living room picture window and see she's somehow managed to drive onto our front deck. I can't figure out how. It's not logical, all the railings are intact. She laughs, blows kisses and drives away before I can figure it out. Lee comes home badly beaten, all cut up, bleeding, bruised. Me and Mom take the car (the black LTD with tan interior that Dad had when I was a kid) and go looking for them, we go looking for a fight, ready to retaliate . . .

I pick up Herschel in Blackville and he's in bad shape, mumbling all kinds of crazy stuff. He says him and Holly (Kim's girl I think) were bitten by the devil's spiders and now their souls belong to him. They have to do the devil's work. Herschel's terrified, frantic. He needs to get to town, needs to stop her before she does something terrible. He says Holly is leaving on a train to Toronto to ruin all the people there. He's chain-smoking, trembling, sweating profusely. I think he's gotten into some bad drugs. Think I should take him to the hospital. He keeps saying he doesn't want to do bad things. He cries, big fat tears falling from his bloodshot eyes. I notice how thin he is, wonder what he's into. He says nothing. Just a little weed, nothing stronger. He thinks the only way to end it is to kill himself, but first he's got to stop Holly. He climbs into the back seat to lay down while I race to town. I need to get him to the hospital. He's doubled over with cramps in the back seat, moaning with pain, saying he doesn't want to over and over. All of a sudden he goes quiet and alarmed I turn to look and see if he's okay. He's sitting up, quite still and calm, the pupils of his eyes burning bright red, his lips curled in a snarl . . .

And then I woke up. Exhausted. A little bit disoriented and afraid. Wondering where all the Dodges have gone. The clock said I had been asleep less than an hour. It took much longer to write all the dreams down than to have them. There haven't been many nights without dreams in my lifetime. Any dreamless nights that did occur only happened after much liquor and/or drugs and/or many days in succession without any sleep at all. My mother dreams like this too, so I know I'm not the only one, but still . . . sometimes I wish I could just turn it off and sleep for real.

Mood: out of hand
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: On the Run, Sam Roberts
Hair: recently laundered and too f'ing thick to handle

More Stuff

This morning I sat in my kitchen and wrote two pages long-hand. Notes on a play that I've been swirling in my brain for awhile now. Going to the library this afternoon for some research amongst other things. I want to read "The Polished Hoe" before taking Austin Clarke's workshop during Frye Fest. I really can't afford to go total immersion into Frye this year, but I wouldn't miss this workshop for anything. Luckily Stacy is coming that weekend for the big Annual Flea Market at the arena here, so I may get to do some Frye activities afterall.

*****

Started reading Michael Winter's "This All Happened" last night. It's rather interestingly constructed. I'm not sure why he doesn't use proper contractions for words like doesnt, wouldnt, etc. No apostrophes. Curious. The novel occurs over the course of one year and has one snippet for every day, though it's not really like a diary or journal. It's a bit more relaxed than that. Last night I read January. Enjoyable so far.

*****

I remembered to take the garbage out! Because you know, soon the boys will be gone and I'll have to fend for myself, so I really can't be forgetting the garbage for months on end.

*****

Friday evening there is an Art Auction Fiesta at Owen's Gallery as a fundraiser to send some students to Mexico to work with Habitat for Humanity. I should go. NOT that I can afford to be buying art just now, but . . . I wonder if they'll take Mastercard? Just kidding. I should make more of an effort to go to these things though, if for no other reason than to check out venues for next year's WFNB AGM that I must plan.

*****

I'm marinating a steak for dinner tonight. Last night I totally pigged out on nachos with chipotle chicken, green onions, black olives, yellow peppers, green peppers, pickled jalepeno peppers, old cheddar, hot salsa and peppercorn ranch for dipping. So frigging yummy with a glass of South African Cabernet Shiraz! But tonight there will definitely be more salad and less starchy carbs because I still felt like crap when I woke up this morning from the excess of last night.

*****
I really need to do some work. Really. For serious.

Mood: a little stressed
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: The Travel Song, Pilate
Hair: tightly wound

Morning Pages

There's no mistaking it now, winter (such as it was) is done, spring has sprung in a big way. I absolutely love, love, love having all the windows open! But even if the skies weren't clear blue as far as the eye can see, even it was raining and dull and dark, I'd know the season changed because I've got that feeling in my gut again. That feeling of excitement and anticipation, like all is possible in the world and anything can happen. I WANT TO DO SOMETHING!

It's a feeling that reminds me of being a kid, like the day before the first day back to school after summer holiday, or the last day of school before summer holiday, or Christmas Eve. Like being a teenager and the uncontrollable inconsolable butterflies when the boy you've had a crush on for months smiles at you or brushes against you behind the stacks in the library. Like falling in love, the first year, when you're discovering everything about the person and experiencing everything with them for the first time. This is how I feel today. This is how I felt yesterday. This is how I'll feel for the next few weeks until the season settles into my skin.

I want to run, sit in the sun, swing from the trees, close my eyes and listen to the birds, be absorbed into nature, just breathe. I want to create something beautiful, say something profound, write something brilliant. This is a good kind of energy, better if I can harnass it, direct it into productivity.

Last week I had lunch with a friend and writer in Miramichi (if you can call 4+ hours, lunch) and again I talked about my inability to write anything creative without being consumed by guilt. Again I mentioned that I purchased a notebook and was going to seek a change of venue in hopes that something would "happen." Just venting helps. Just hearing someone else say they also have the demon on their shoulder telling them not to write, that it's not important, helps. She told me about a great book she'd read, though the title eludes me now, it doesn't matter. She's mentioned this book before. One day I'll read it but I don't need to yet because I've already got a message from it to chew on and digest.

The author talks about something called Morning Pages, where basically you get up and write three pages everyday. You can write anything that comes into your head. Dump all the crap that fills your brain, all the things you're trying to keep straight, all the things you have to do and the things you would like to do, and all the nasty things the demon on your shoulder says to make you feel like a shit for wanting to write stories or poetry. You spill all this crap onto three pages every morning in a sort of cleansing ritual, freeing yourself from it, gaining perspective and clarity. Later you might even find nuggets for stories or poems when you look back on the exercise after a few months.

I realised that sometimes this blog has been my morning pages, my dumping ground for the crap. But I've been blogging less, and blogging less about the crap of day-to-day, AND most importantly feeling super guilty for taking time to blog at all when I've got so much other stuff on the go. And I think it's because of this that I've been unable to write anything new. Before, when I first moved, when I was blogging at least once everyday and usually more, I wasn't writing much creatively, but there were ideas, there were some things percolating and a few paragraphs every now and then floating to the surface. I've been completely dry for months and going a little berserker from it. So maybe I'll dump more crap here. Maybe I'll dump it long-hand into a notebook. It doesn't matter how I do it, the important thing is that new stories will begin and end.

Thank the Goddess for spring and the positive energy of new life! Now I can make something happen.

Mood: excitable
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Pretty the World, Matt Nathanson
Hair: fading to strawberry blonde

Back On the Ball

The thing about going away for weeks on end is the disorientation when you return. It takes a few days to get back into routine. And I seem like I get so very tired when I'm away, I could sleep non-stop for days, just lay around and veg the rest of the time when I'm not sleeping. But of course I've too much to do, no time for lounging. I've got to get back on the ball, and quickly. If I knew what zaps the life out of me, I'd change some things on future trips, but I'm totally in the dark, not a clue. All I know is that I can't stop yawning.

This time it's quite possible I caught a bug from Paulina, some sort of thing going around the school making them listless (mono?) because all week I couldn't keep my eyes open past midnight even, which is not the norm. One night I went to bed early and slept late, stayed in bed for 16 hours! How crazy is that?! Even for me, that's excessive, sleeping in that late usually means I haven't gone to bed until after dawn, so yeah I'm wondering if I've got a bug. Which brings me back to the Medicare issue again (keeps rearing its head), yes, I need to get a replacement card. Somehow this must filter to the top of my list.

I'd write more, tell you what happened while I was away, and more . . . but I'm all fogged in. Maybe if I go outside, walk around a bit in this fabulous day, maybe then I'll snap out of it.

Mood: tuckered
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: One Headlight, The Wallflowers
Hair: headbanded circa 1950's

In Dreams

Make it stop! Enough already! I'm exhausted, not sleeping well, too many dreams. Crazy things --

. . . Stacy dressed like Patty from Grease, preppy, poodleskirt girl, at a dance (school? legion? i can't tell the difference), calls out to me then some guy named Danny, (a mathmatician!) who is probably the most unattractive man I've ever seen, wanting us to meet and mingle and hopefully get married and have what I can only imagine would be the homeliest babies of all time, He's just your type! Blech! Adios!

. . . is this prison? Or school? All the lining up to be ushered somewhere, places I never actually arrive at, just the line, barely moving along, people bullying, pushing, threatening, fighting, stealing, stuff to hide from the wardens? teachers? This is boring. Tedious. I growl when someone notices me and considers approaching. Deep in my throat. Like a child. Like an animal. I won't be bullied. Don't mess with me, I'm pissed and half crazy. The line parts and I glide to the front. An abstract painting, all reds and blacks, hangs on a white brick wall. Is this all there is?

. . . another dance. No, this is a club. Drinks. Dancing. Not a dance club, though. There's a band, jazz, and couples grooving. The music takes me and I sway against strangers, eyes closed, feeling the sax. A man at the mic starts to sing and tears leak, streak navy mascara, salt my lips. It hurts to be here. Too beautiful. Too much.

. . . cement steps outside an old store. Blackville. The store that used to be out that lane by the Irving, before the ballpark, Hazel's? Maybe. Sitting on the cement steps eating candy, flavoured crystals you pick up with a candy stick you lick, orange and grape. We watch cars. The steps are hard and cold. I'm a child wearing shorts. Tiny little legs. I wonder how it can be that even now my knees hurt.

. . . steps still, but now the church and I'm wearing a short skirt, sucking on a cigarette. Hanging out. Looking toward Dungarvon in the sunset. Somebody's dead. Drowned. And we don't understand how. Why? What happened? We talk about the wake and funeral. Maybe we'll go. I understand this is a memory, this really happened. Why am I here? Why revisit? I look for clues. Cars passing. People honking. Waving. I sip Coke. I NEVER sip Coke now. Some of these people on this step are dead now, I realise. Linda. Karen. Were they really there? I don't think so. In the graveyard I see Clyde and he grins.

. . . ferris wheel takes my stomach as we round the top and drop to the ground backwards. It's too high. Too creaky. I don't like the look of the carnie running the ride. Where is this? It's night. Nothing to see beyond the carnival. I'm holding someone's hand, a little bit too tight. I'm afraid to look and see who this is. The last time I rode a ferris wheel was at the Blackville Fair. I don't want to be there. I don't want to be trapped on this ride with him. The night is too dark and the rides too bright. Is that water over there? Focus on the hand I'm holding. Fair. Long fingers. Light hairs curling into denim jacket. Can't be him. Not dark enough. Take a deep breath, look over, look up, find his face. And it's okay. I'm safe here.

And when all this happens and you wake up and look at the clock to see that you've been asleep about 15 or 20 minutes, you know you're in for a wild night. Am I the only one so moon-effected? Surely it can't be.

Mood: the original sleepyhead
Drinking: COFFEE!! But I need a pure caffeine injection . . . or cocktails
Listening To: Deny, Default
Hair: blah!

Over-Extended

I'm addicted to Leonard Cohen radio on Pandora.com. Just added my favourites from there to the blog sidebar.

*****

I admitted to the Writers' Group tonight that I am not writing, that I am not even thinking about my writing, I'm not letting something gel in my brain, there are no seeds, I have lost my way. That was a funny business that. I intended the comment to be more of a joke, a quick quip off something someone else had said . . . but as soon as I said it I was overcome with emotion, close to tears at first, quickly turned to a flash of anger. Was I more angry at showing so much emotion in public or the fact that I feel so out of control most of the time? Probably equal blame, enough to go around lord knows.

A profitable meeting nonetheless. Received new shoes from friend who had two pairs. Lovely. They will be my new house shoes as they are super comfortable and make me feel light and quick. I'm wearing them now. I may never take them off. Merci beaucoup!

*****

Brokeback Mountain is playing tomorrow night at the Vogue as the Film Society movie. Can I go? Can I not? Heath's character is a mumbler I know and Alastair tells me the sound in that theatre is not the greatest . . . still, the big screen versus dvd, no comparision. Can I take the time (and money) so close to another 10 days on the road? I guess it'll depend on how much I feel I accomplish between now and then. I've got to have the March 28th issue of bnm locked up before I leave. And a bunch more stuff. Plus the usual packing, setting the house in order, etc.

*****

Stacy sent me the pics from the Jon Bon concert today. Very nice! Still haven't gotten mine developed. Yes, that's how poor I am.



Mood: cooked, burnt, fried, baked, toast . . . stick a fork in me, I'm done
Drinking: California Merlot
Listening To: Until You Suffer Some (Fire and Ice), Poison
Hair: straggly, rough

Where Have All the Good People Gone?

** Edited Wednesday March 15th 10 a.m.
Well I wanted to post some pictures from the Sam Roberts concert Friday night. But there's some sort of problem and I can't upload to Blogger. Which makes absolutely no difference whatsoever anyway because I can't get the damn pictures off the card anyway because the reader quit again. Which pretty much doesn't fucking matter because only having 1.0 MP and 2x digital zoom to work with on the first HP digital camera ever made, the pictures pretty much suck. Someday, somehow, when I win the lotto or get a real job, as god is my witness, I WILL HAVE A FULLY FUNCTIONAL CAMERA!!

Sherry took stills that I'm sure turned out much better. Course I can't post them here, being in film and all that. But she'll likely get doubles so I can have a set.

Okay, enough about that. The concert itself was fantastic! I really liked the venue, will totally go back to see anyone else who comes to play there. Sam Roberts was an amazing performer. If you ever get the chance to see him, GO!! Seriously, beg, borrow, rob old ladies, but get there somehow. You won't be sorry. Now I know why listening to his tunes always makes me want to dance . . . because the man can dance! He can't keep still. The Novaks were really good too. Amazing drummer! We were a little bit too close to the stage though, when they performed, and the sound sucked because we were in front of the speakers, couldn't understand a word the man said. Later we moved back and all was great.

** Edited Wednesday March 15th 10 a.m.




Mood: a little pissy/but not anymore
Drinking: cold effing coffee/freshly brewed today
Listening To: Desire, U2/ No Rolling Back, Jay Farrar
Hair: what would it look like if i just snipped the ponytail off?/still haven't snipped off the ponytail thinking bout colour today

TO Pics

I'm having a busy March Break with lots of visitors, lots of kids. No time for blogging. Stacy sent me some of the Toronto pics. Enjoy!

The view from our hotel window.

Enjoying a Cosmo in the Library Bar at the Royal York Hotel.

Sucking back a Chocolate Martini, first night in town.

The Rushton restaurant on St. Clair West a.k.a. THE SIGN that Ian made.

Great food and fabulous company at Ferro.

The restaurant in our hotel where we enjoyed Jerk Chicken Nachos upon arrival and breakfast on this sunny morning.

Here I am trying to keep the sun out of my eyes while I wait for breakfast.

And here is the breakfast, pretty good omelet.

We were particularly impressed by the butter balls.

Though nothing compared to the breakfast we had the next morning at Azure.

Check out the BEST Eggs Benedict ever!

Seriously, how much am I loving this breakfast?!

I loved this coffee shop in the Distillery District.

Another view in the coffee shop.

And another view.

Unfortunately the weather sucked the life out of our Distillery District day.

So we went shopping instead. The corner of Yonge and Dundas was unrecognizable from when I used to be here everyday.

Mood: sleepy
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Dragon Tales
Hair: greying at the roots

Fat Lady Sang

I sucked. Scored a whopping 10. Got all the actors and actresses right, and the writing of course, fluked a couple of others, but missed on the big ones. No idea who won, no word from Barnbonia yet. Oh well. Pinkie and I had an incredible last evening together. Next year, I will have to make time to do the research.

Update

I believe I am losing big time. Though I'm not actually hearing anything from the party as to the score. So far I've 5 correct, and a whopping 7 wrong. It doesn't look good. I'm also tired. Have exchanged Oscar outfit for more comfy jammies and warm knit socks. Have traded wine in for ice cream. It is, afterall, Sunday night. Tomorrow being a day of work.

So Far . . .

Two right. One wrong. Somebody give Dolly a doughnut or something. Please! I mean seriously what the hell happened to her face?!

Dinner is Served!

Pinkie and I have started with salad, bread and wine. Watching the ETalk Daily Pre-Oscar show. Poor Ben! Nobody knows who he is, god luv him. He has a hard time getting the A-List stars. Though he got Clooney, which was good.

Mood: hungry
Drinking: cab
Listening To: ben mulroney
Hair: Rock Star!

Countdown to the Main Event

In prep mode for an evening with the Oscars. Dolling up, despite my physical distance from the party. No dress but it's all about the shoes anyway you know. Dancing about in my underwear to Sam Roberts, while I apply eyes and lips.

On the menu for tonight's festivities -- baby romaine salad, whole grain rye baguette with roasted pepper garlic butter, curried chicken with a side of brown rice OR sweet potatoe (still deciding) and a glass of California Cabernet Sauvignon (Turning Leaf).

Pink Panther occupying place of honour with spectacular view of television, fingers crossed as he roots for me (and him, having confided a strong aversion to moving earlier this week and every day since.)

Pre-pre-show events begin at 7. Pinky and I will be available for party chatting via MSN. Luck all!

Mood: excited
Drinking: nuttin yet
Listening To: Where Have All the Good People Gone, Sam Roberts
Hair: damp

Hello Gorgeous!

It's Oscar Day and I'm fairly certain mister Pink Panther may be finding another home for the year :-( I just sent Jenn my picks, which I quickly whipped up with no thought and sometimes no idea what I had even chosen. Oy! Not the recipe for success. Last year, I actually did research. Made decisions that went against my gut, against my heart. This year it's all guts and probably no glory. Oh well. It's always fun to play along. Though I wish I could be at the party. I hear Darcey's been doing the research . . . hmmm . . . we'll see.

Last night I watched Stolen Summer, the movie that won the first season of Project Greenlight (was there more than one season?) You know it was pretty good, not that bad. I mean if you went into it with zero expectations, believing this may indeed be the worst movie you'd ever watch in your life, you'd be pleasantly surprised -- it comes nowhere near Gigli. But what I found particularly interesting were the clips from the tv show. I've zipped the first season dvds, so that'll be interesting watching I'm sure, to see the process for this first-time director. You miss so much tv when you don't have HBO, and all those other specialty channels.

Later I watched Before Sunrise back-to-back with Before Sunset. I wanted to see Vienna and Paris. I wanted to feel like I was walking around foreign cities. It worked. The dialogue in those films is so great. I love them. It's been awhile, and I'm not sure I've ever watched them together like that. I saw things I hadn't before, contrasts from the first to second. God, I love those movies!

Anyway, I wanted to feel like I was walking in foreign (European) cities because I have a big decision to make, a decision that could lead me to Amsterdam this fall. But it's HUGE. It's a challenge that will change my life forever on so many levels. I need to think really long and hard before committing myself. More on that later.

Mood: scattered in freezing rain
Drinking: coffee, with lots of cream
Listening To: Silver Lining, Steve Poltz (my new favourite song! I love this!)
Hair: due for some pre-award ceremony pampering

Mewsik

Believe I've been tagged by Liz.

List seven songs you are into right now. No matter what the genre, whether they have words, or even if they’re any good, but they must be songs you’re really enjoying now. Post these instructions in your blog along with your seven songs. Then tag seven other people to see what they’re listening to.

Ok. This is super duper difficult. How to narrow a list to just 7?! It baffles me. Soooo, let's open iTunes, hit random and see what turns up . . .

Ride Cowboy Ride, Bon Jovi, live acoustic version. Yes, this bunch come to the top a lot of the time. I like 'em, what more can I say?

Someday You Will Be Loved, Death Cab for Cutie, Plans album. I've been listening to this band a lot while I'm working. In particular they're good when I'm writing it seems. Their stuff is good soundtrack for your life music. Good thinking stuff.

Higher Learner, Sam Roberts, We Were Born in a Flame album. None of my friends had even heard of Sam Roberts when I first started listening to him. Now Sherry and I are going to see him play live next week. The thing about Sam Roberts is that no matter what I'm doing, his music makes me stop (or want to stop) raise my hands and move to the music. Slow or fast, no difference. I feel his music.

All Because of You, U2, How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb album. I so regret I didn't make more effort to go see them in Toronto last year. U2 are classic, timeless. This is one of their latest but I truly love all of it, from the beginning.

I See A Darkness, Johnny Cash, American III album. I've been listening to a lot of Johnny Cash since seeing Walk the Line. In particular, I love this album of covers from bands like Nine Inch Nails. But I've rediscovered a lot of the classic Cash too.

Testify, Rage Against the Machine, unplugged and rare. Zach gets a lot of play here whether with Rage or other solo projects. Whenever I need resolve, determination, I find it here.

Love Calls You By Your Name, Leonard Cohen, Songs of Love and Hate album. I mean what can I possibly say about Leonard. I just think he's the coolest ever.

And that's seven, but it's not even a glimpse into the library.

Tagging . . .
I don't even know 7 bloggers . . .
Tagging anybody who wants it.

Mood: philosophical
Drinking: coffee with cream
Listening To: You Know You're Right, Nirvana
Hair: off my face

Substitute People

I just finished watching Cameron Crowe's Elizabethtown for the first time.

. . .

The music is fantastic.

. . .

But that was a given.

. . .

. . .

Critics gave this one a hard time, I remember. And yeah, it's no Vanilla Sky, but . . .

It stirs up all kinds of shit in me. I think when you grow up like I did, in such a large close-knit family, you don't realise how special that is, to be a part of something so much bigger than yourself. Or maybe you take it for granted, don't appreciate it as much as it deserves. Because it's truly a miracle.

On the occasion of my grandfather's funeral, my Calgarian cousin surprised everyone when he walked into the church on the night of the wake. His huge positive energy helped carry more than just me through those difficult couple of days. He fed on the energy of family and projected it back on us, mentioned it a few times, how great it was to be in a hall filled with family. And at the time, yeah, I kinda got that, understood he grew up different than me, without all these people. But looking around a hall at a funeral, wedding, anniversary, or any of the many occasions we gather, it doesn't take real long to lock eyes with someone you'd rather not. Yeah, we're family, but we're certainly not all friends. And I remember thinking that at the time, man, if you only knew . . . Because you know, nobody ever sees him, everybody wants to know him, so they're all putting their best face forward, right? But here's the thing I was overlooking, when I'm rolling my eyes and thinking this I can easily share looks with a couple dozen people thinking the same thing. My family. The ones who've always been there and always will. The ones I truly care about and who truly care about me. I've got dozens of them, on both sides. And I guess I've never really consciously thought about it, how rare that is, to have friendships with so many cousins, aunts and uncles.

But subconsciously it's always been there. I remember Stacy asking me one time how come I introduced her as my cousin. She seemed a little put out by it actually, upset that I didn't think of her as a friend first. And at the time I didn't really know what to tell her, didn't really see anything wrong with it but tried to make a conscious effort to introduce her differently. I understand now. It's my view of family. I've always been a little bit of a loner, hanging with one crowd for a few months and then moving on to another. I've maintained very few friendships, most in recent years. Maybe that's the way it is for everyone, I don't know, but a lot of friends have come and gone (or I've come and gone), but family is a constant. I have family I only see once or twice a year, and others like my cousin from out west that I hadn't seen since the year we were graduating high school, but when we get together it's like we've never been apart. There's a bond, a connection. It's very real, very strong, and awe-inspiringly powerful. I guess for me the saying about blood being thicker than water rings true. So declaring Stacy as my cousin, for me, meant that she was more than a friend. She's blood.

And I realised all of this when Orlando Bloom is overwhelmed in his father's family kitchen in Kentucky.

And when he touches his father's hands, I saw my father's hands and cried.

And Kirsten Dunst says she's a substitute person, that they're both substitute people. And it clicks with me, being the substitute person. And for the umpteenth time I want to know how the fuck Cameron Crowe knows me so well when we've never met.

I don't care what the critics said. I'm watching it again.

Mood: all over the place
Drinking: Turning Leaf Cabernet Sauvignon
Listening To: Promise Me This, Dawson's Creek Soundtrack
Hair: smells like celine

Longer Days

It's nearly 6pm and still broad daylight. I like it! I like it a lot!

So I'm really looking forward to next week. It's March Break and I think my kids are coming to visit. Last I heard anyway. I am in serious kid withdrawal. Called Sherry's last night to talk with Paulina and was crushed to find out she had gone to bed. The Missus was in a mood, told me she peed on her Dora slippers but that was all, wouldn't talk to me anymore. Luckily Paulina got up for a drink and Sherry let her talk to me for a few minutes about winter carnival week. It's the Keenans who are coming to visit next week. I'm sure I'll get my fill of kid-time then, especially since I'm probably sleeping with all the little brutes.

Next Friday Sherry is coming for an overnight visit. We're going to see Sam Roberts and The Novaks. Should be fun. Next weekend is also the Sackville Film festival with a lot of student productions playing at the Vogue. This weekend there is jazz at George's Roadhouse, but I'm probably not going. I'm a little poor this week. And still not comfortable with the idea of going over there alone. At least not for the first time.

Chapman's Ice Cream blocks are on sale at Save-Easy this week, two for $5. I should buy some for when the children come.

I seem to be having a super-productive week. Hopefully this trend continues.

Mood: happy
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: If You Walk Away, Fefe Dobson
Hair: yeah, lets not go there today

Three Hours Sleep

Stayed up late. Got up early. Couldn't sleep. Dreams again . . . bizarre stuff . . . like I was tricked into making a motion at a board meeting to oust one of the directors, getting me blackballed by writers and writing groups throughout the nation, not to mention the somewhat substantial wrath of the director I was responsible for ousting. Silly stuff, that . . . like MB was due to pick me up, take me home with her and I couldn't stop crying while I packed my stuff. A broken dream, that one. I had no options, no place to go . . . like I met an old man with long grey chin whiskers on an airplane. He seemed wise and interesting and somewhat familiar. I wanted to know him better. I wanted to know everything. We were going to Russia. I felt like he could change my life. Then the plane crashed . . . like I got to go to the Oscars! I was one of the seat fillers, dressed in my gold gown, with a short Halle hair-do (like when she won). I sat beside Robin Williams and thought I would pee myself . . .

So many more. So little rest.

Mood: i am a total freak
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: boys in their morning rituals
Hair: up and out of the way

Farewell Reading Week

Last week was good because most of the kids went away for spring fling. There was one boy here (or maybe the girl), whoever it was, they were so quiet you never knew when they were in the house or not unless they happened to flush the toilet while you were showering. Actually, I think all the kids are pretty quiet, it's just that one heavy-footed partier with the bedroom next to mine. When he's in the house, you know it. The other three could've been here all last week, you'd never know. But the absence of the guy on the other side of the wall was noted as soon as he vacated. I missed him the very first night.

And now he's back. And it's only Tuesday night, yet the dooryard is full of screaming kids rolling around in the snow, getting high and acting out. Which is fine. I used to enjoy screaming and rolling around in the snow and getting high on Tuesday night too. You could still twist my arm, get me to act out, act up, if there just wasn't so much editing and reading and writing and otherwise quiet work needing my sober concentration. Sometimes I just wanna scream GET A JOB ALREADY!

I know really I'm just jealous I don't get to cut class every Wednesday morning. That's what it is.

Ah, shit! Now the party's moved into his bedroom . . . someone just fell into the closet over there, which means they very nearly came through my wall. It'll be nice when they vacate for summer.

Mood: exasperated and a little worried I'm developing a repetitive strain injury
Drinking: tea and water
Listening To: On the Run, Sam Roberts
Hair: pulled back, today i want to grow it to my ankles, so i can wrap it around my body and keep warm next winter