I have been living in a new apartment, without the internet, for two months.
I've read nearly ten substantial novels since I've moved in.
Feels good.
Going on a trip next year, working seven days a week to do it.
Will feel good.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Friday, July 15, 2011
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
On the Subject of Me
Let's you and I talk about me. And then you. Or first you, then me. Let's cover all the bases for the day and then walk in silence, in our own thoughts, for hours more.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Induced by Cider & Wine
I've got my front door open to 12th avenue
and there's some warbly tunes playing in the background, like a record slowing and quickening and here I'm sitting waiting for that bottle of wine to open itself.
Today I squinted into the sun with a mouthful of cider, whilst listening to rap, no less. I sat on a cushy grass bed blanketed with a crocheted throw with said blades poking through the eye holes. Knowwhaddimean?
I finished the crossword and sudoku. I watched a little girl giggle around with a pointy red hood - laughing and falling round an empty cement pool. Her mother wearing a baggy military jacket and a soft bun on the top of her skull.
When you hear that Bob Seger song you know I'll be long gone...
I sat with a new friend talking about old things. White kids listening to black music.
I frequently found myself thinking of the days back home when some friends and I would sit in the park listening to Dre and smoking grass. The same shades of green that I saw when I was stoned then stay with me today. I still find myself gazing off into the nothingness of the vivid colouring, thinking of a time past when I had a warm, fuzzy brain and rolled in the grass, laughing until my back hurt, until I couldn't find a way to stay, until I didn't know if I'd ever get home.
and there's some warbly tunes playing in the background, like a record slowing and quickening and here I'm sitting waiting for that bottle of wine to open itself.
Today I squinted into the sun with a mouthful of cider, whilst listening to rap, no less. I sat on a cushy grass bed blanketed with a crocheted throw with said blades poking through the eye holes. Knowwhaddimean?
I finished the crossword and sudoku. I watched a little girl giggle around with a pointy red hood - laughing and falling round an empty cement pool. Her mother wearing a baggy military jacket and a soft bun on the top of her skull.
When you hear that Bob Seger song you know I'll be long gone...
I sat with a new friend talking about old things. White kids listening to black music.
I frequently found myself thinking of the days back home when some friends and I would sit in the park listening to Dre and smoking grass. The same shades of green that I saw when I was stoned then stay with me today. I still find myself gazing off into the nothingness of the vivid colouring, thinking of a time past when I had a warm, fuzzy brain and rolled in the grass, laughing until my back hurt, until I couldn't find a way to stay, until I didn't know if I'd ever get home.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
My life doesn't mean much these days - yesterday my goal was to find out just how long it took to walk around the Stanley Park seawall (1 hr 45 m).
I'm sure my new job starts in about a week, but until then I am rendered to my own company, and the company of those I see on a near daily basis, whom I don't need to have an especially real conversation with because we already know what each other have been up to. I like that, the silence. It's like being with family. Mind you, I am starting to get restless and am in fear of getting a bit depressed.
I haven't left the house at all today. I had to shut the radio off, CBC was driving me absolutely mad (gas prices are through the roof, Jian interviewing Shania Twain).
I baked a coffee cake and cleaned the bathroom. I read some, and changed twice in preparation for leaving the house at some point.
I had a bath. I steamed peas and ate them with butter and salt. I made hot chocolate and drank it by the spoonful as I did when I was little.
Tomorrow's a whole new day.
I'm sure my new job starts in about a week, but until then I am rendered to my own company, and the company of those I see on a near daily basis, whom I don't need to have an especially real conversation with because we already know what each other have been up to. I like that, the silence. It's like being with family. Mind you, I am starting to get restless and am in fear of getting a bit depressed.
I haven't left the house at all today. I had to shut the radio off, CBC was driving me absolutely mad (gas prices are through the roof, Jian interviewing Shania Twain).
I baked a coffee cake and cleaned the bathroom. I read some, and changed twice in preparation for leaving the house at some point.
I had a bath. I steamed peas and ate them with butter and salt. I made hot chocolate and drank it by the spoonful as I did when I was little.
Tomorrow's a whole new day.
'Unca Biff! Watch me do the split.'
Gently he set Baby on her feet again. She curved both arms above her head and her feet slid slowly in opposite directions on the yellow waxed floor. In a moment she was seated with one leg stretched straight in front of her and one behind. She posed with her arms held at a fancy angle, looking sideways at the wall with a sad expression.
- from The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers.
This is not (by far) the most meaningful quote from the novel, but I love how it captures the way kids can seem so weird and wonderful while performing.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Last Minute
Coffee at midnight, hopefully this is the last time I'll be doing that for a while.
It's funny how things can change in an instant, like the direction of the wind - is that cliche? but that's how I see it, possibly feel it.
I'm holding on to the old direction in the way I hold on to nostalgia rather than an actual person.
Differences are differences, I've always been good at not missing people, so I find myself still grasping something that isn't the person so much, but the feeling of that person that occured within me for such an incredibly short amount of time.
I feel sad, in a way, about it. Also sort of annoyed. I know what's good for me! So I'd allow my mind to allow me to move on.
But, it would have been nice if the wind didn't change direction.
It's funny how things can change in an instant, like the direction of the wind - is that cliche? but that's how I see it, possibly feel it.
I'm holding on to the old direction in the way I hold on to nostalgia rather than an actual person.
Differences are differences, I've always been good at not missing people, so I find myself still grasping something that isn't the person so much, but the feeling of that person that occured within me for such an incredibly short amount of time.
I feel sad, in a way, about it. Also sort of annoyed. I know what's good for me! So I'd allow my mind to allow me to move on.
But, it would have been nice if the wind didn't change direction.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
That Will Run Next Year
I sit here and ache in a chair made out of wasted money, rolling up my sleeves and rocking forward and backward to the shocks of caffiene. A break from silence with Smog.
Two exams down, two to go.
I am surrounded by papers with words I've stared at for hours, though my mind has mostly been elsewhere. I decided to take a break - it's dinner-time after all, and since it's actually slushing outside..I'll wait it out before heaading home. May take all night.
Whether or not there is any type of God, I'm not supposed to say and today I don't really care. God is a word and the argument ends there
Chewing gum, chewing tapping chewing swallowing sipping staring sighing
Outside there are green fields and people walking covered running
There's a waterfalling gutter behind me, singing out spring time
Timely waving across the concrete
Like the sound waves
Between you and me
While we say
'Thinking of the Future'
Two exams down, two to go.
I am surrounded by papers with words I've stared at for hours, though my mind has mostly been elsewhere. I decided to take a break - it's dinner-time after all, and since it's actually slushing outside..I'll wait it out before heaading home. May take all night.
Whether or not there is any type of God, I'm not supposed to say and today I don't really care. God is a word and the argument ends there
Chewing gum, chewing tapping chewing swallowing sipping staring sighing
Outside there are green fields and people walking covered running
There's a waterfalling gutter behind me, singing out spring time
Timely waving across the concrete
Like the sound waves
Between you and me
While we say
'Thinking of the Future'
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
The Weather in San Francisco by Richard Brautigan
It was a cloudy afternoon with an Italian butcher selling a pound of meat to a very old woman, but who knows what such an old woman could possibly use a pound of meat for?
She was too old for that much meat. Perhaps she used it for a bee hive and she had five hundred golden bees at home waiting for their meat, their bodies stuffed with honey.
"What kind of meat would you like today?" the butcher said. "We have some good hamburger. It's lean."
"I don't know," she said. "Hamburger is something else."
"Yeah, it's lean. I ground it myself. I put a lot of lean meat in it."
"Hamburger doesn't sound right," she said.
"Yeah," the butcher said. "It's a good day for hamburger. Look outside. It's cloudy. Some of those clouds have rain in them. I'd get the hamburger," he said.
"No," she said. "I don't want any hamburger, and I don't think it's going to rain. I think the sun is going to come out, and it will be a beautiful day, and I want a pound of liver."
The butcher was stunned. He did not like to sell liver to old ladies. There was something about it that made him very nervous. He didn't want to talk to her any more.
He reluctantly sliced a pound of liver off a huge red chunk and wrapped it up in white paper and put it into a brown bag. It was a very unpleasant experience for him.
He took her money, gave her the change, and went back to the poultry section to try and get a hold of his nerves.
By using her bones like the sails of a ship, the old woman passed outside into the street. She carried the liver as if it were a victory to the bottom of a very steep hill.
She climbed the hill and being very old, it was hard on her. She grew tired and had to stop and rest many times before she reached the top.
At the top of the hill was the old woman's house: a tall San Francisco house with bay windows that reflected a cloudy day.
She opened her purse which was like a small autumn field and near the fallen branches of an old apple tree, she found her key.
Then she opened the door. It was a dear and trusted friend. She nodded at the door and went into the house and walked down a long hall into a room that was filled with bees.
There were bees everywhere in the room. Bees on the chairs. Bees on the photograph of her dead parents. Bees on the curtains. Bees on the ancient radio that once listened to the 1930s. Bees on her comb and brush.
The bees came to her and gathered about her lovingly while she unwrapped the liver and placed it upon a cloudy silver platter that soon changed into a sunny day.
She was too old for that much meat. Perhaps she used it for a bee hive and she had five hundred golden bees at home waiting for their meat, their bodies stuffed with honey.
"What kind of meat would you like today?" the butcher said. "We have some good hamburger. It's lean."
"I don't know," she said. "Hamburger is something else."
"Yeah, it's lean. I ground it myself. I put a lot of lean meat in it."
"Hamburger doesn't sound right," she said.
"Yeah," the butcher said. "It's a good day for hamburger. Look outside. It's cloudy. Some of those clouds have rain in them. I'd get the hamburger," he said.
"No," she said. "I don't want any hamburger, and I don't think it's going to rain. I think the sun is going to come out, and it will be a beautiful day, and I want a pound of liver."
The butcher was stunned. He did not like to sell liver to old ladies. There was something about it that made him very nervous. He didn't want to talk to her any more.
He reluctantly sliced a pound of liver off a huge red chunk and wrapped it up in white paper and put it into a brown bag. It was a very unpleasant experience for him.
He took her money, gave her the change, and went back to the poultry section to try and get a hold of his nerves.
By using her bones like the sails of a ship, the old woman passed outside into the street. She carried the liver as if it were a victory to the bottom of a very steep hill.
She climbed the hill and being very old, it was hard on her. She grew tired and had to stop and rest many times before she reached the top.
At the top of the hill was the old woman's house: a tall San Francisco house with bay windows that reflected a cloudy day.
She opened her purse which was like a small autumn field and near the fallen branches of an old apple tree, she found her key.
Then she opened the door. It was a dear and trusted friend. She nodded at the door and went into the house and walked down a long hall into a room that was filled with bees.
There were bees everywhere in the room. Bees on the chairs. Bees on the photograph of her dead parents. Bees on the curtains. Bees on the ancient radio that once listened to the 1930s. Bees on her comb and brush.
The bees came to her and gathered about her lovingly while she unwrapped the liver and placed it upon a cloudy silver platter that soon changed into a sunny day.
Reading...
From the comment section of Canada! How Does It Work?
"Canadians are less patriotic than Americans are, and sometimes I think that's a good thing and other times I think it leads to less investment in the political process of the country. By way of illustration, I read an article recently about a Canadian who purchased an old building somewhere in the states (Delaware? my memory is sketchy). Later, it was discovered that the building had been used as a barracks in the War of 1812. Local sentiment rejected foreign ownership of this building, and the Canadian was forced to sell it. Meanwhile, they recently discovered the remains of our Second Parliament under a gas station somewhere in Toronto, and the local consensus was to just leave it there and maybe excavate it some other time."
EXACTLY!!!!
"Canadians are less patriotic than Americans are, and sometimes I think that's a good thing and other times I think it leads to less investment in the political process of the country. By way of illustration, I read an article recently about a Canadian who purchased an old building somewhere in the states (Delaware? my memory is sketchy). Later, it was discovered that the building had been used as a barracks in the War of 1812. Local sentiment rejected foreign ownership of this building, and the Canadian was forced to sell it. Meanwhile, they recently discovered the remains of our Second Parliament under a gas station somewhere in Toronto, and the local consensus was to just leave it there and maybe excavate it some other time."
EXACTLY!!!!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
As If This Isn't Lovely
I am in a sun-lit room
in the middle of the afternoon
with a cup and saucer of coffee.
And Cass croons his way through the airy room
I've got
a tablet full of notes in front of me
I can't hear a word of traffic
sweet tints of apple linger on my tongue
and the faintness of that headache slowly drifts away.
in the middle of the afternoon
with a cup and saucer of coffee.
And Cass croons his way through the airy room
I've got
a tablet full of notes in front of me
I can't hear a word of traffic
sweet tints of apple linger on my tongue
and the faintness of that headache slowly drifts away.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Save the Brain
Since I woke up this morning I have had an intense fear of getting dumber with age.
This is why I feel I can't stop going to school now, otherwise I'll just get worse at writing shitty papers I don't care about. I'm not even sure why this matters.
And why is everybody I know at school so sure of themselves? Why does school have to be the way it is?
I am not destined for a career in academics.
I should be working on a farm. Or in the bush. Or on a boat. Or open a pub. Or in a garden. Or in a clinic. Or at a library. Or be a lifeguard. Or become a carpenter. Or operate a food cart at the beach. Or work in daycare. Or in an old folk's home, where I'd read them their favourite books and bake cookies and listen to their old, mean, tired complaints.
This is why I feel I can't stop going to school now, otherwise I'll just get worse at writing shitty papers I don't care about. I'm not even sure why this matters.
And why is everybody I know at school so sure of themselves? Why does school have to be the way it is?
I am not destined for a career in academics.
I should be working on a farm. Or in the bush. Or on a boat. Or open a pub. Or in a garden. Or in a clinic. Or at a library. Or be a lifeguard. Or become a carpenter. Or operate a food cart at the beach. Or work in daycare. Or in an old folk's home, where I'd read them their favourite books and bake cookies and listen to their old, mean, tired complaints.
Saturday, March 19, 2011
A Woman Under The Influence
(click for full-screen to see it properly)
I saw this with Marla quite a while ago, and I still think about it all the time.
If you haven't seen it, see it.
See it see it see it see it see it.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Three Things
1. Sitting over the weekend in a hobbit house. The walls are lined with books.
2. Hot Chocolate
3. SLEEPING IN
2. Hot Chocolate
3. SLEEPING IN
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
I H8 LYFE
"...try to remember as often as you can that you are living your life right now. I know this is a basic idea, but with as much coming and going as there is it can be pretty easy to lose sight, maybe even forget- but it’s true as I type, as you read, as we aspire to greatness or as we fall - this is it. Regardless of who you become tomorrow or who you were yesterday this is you right now - so enjoy it."
I was just saying a couple of weeks ago that my main goal in life is to enjoy what I'm doing. Reading this was another reminder, as in the midst of everything right now I'm feeling ultimately stressed out because I've taken on too much.
I have for sure, not to mention my social life is a little insane right now which makes my mind stir crazy as I try to write papers (one of which is due tomorrow and I haven't started writing yet). Why am I doing this?
Breathe.
Whatever happens, everything is going to be alright. Right?
I was just saying a couple of weeks ago that my main goal in life is to enjoy what I'm doing. Reading this was another reminder, as in the midst of everything right now I'm feeling ultimately stressed out because I've taken on too much.
I have for sure, not to mention my social life is a little insane right now which makes my mind stir crazy as I try to write papers (one of which is due tomorrow and I haven't started writing yet). Why am I doing this?
Breathe.
Whatever happens, everything is going to be alright. Right?
Monday, March 7, 2011
Liudvik
I'll admit that when I went to visit my great grandfather's grave today I (lovingly) said something like, 'You fuck.'
I sat cross-legged right on top of him in the cozy bed of moss. I figured he might be wondering who the hell I was and I wondered in return if someone who has had a lobotomy (therefore no real conscious mind when death comes about) - if they go back to their original (pure) state of mind when their soul floats about the earth and around their rack of bones?
In 1972 at the age of 73, he was buried nine feet deep in hopes his wife would eventually be interned atop of his casket. Not over her dead body, apparently. She decided the cemetery in Burnaby would be much better for her - the farther away, the better.
Stories float around within the family and I'm quite sure there was a time when my Grandpa, along with his mother and five siblings, fled their home with Liudvik chasing them with a giant kitchen knife.
It was Edmundus (Gramps) who got everyone out of the house when Liudvik lit the house on fire. I think this is when he was admitted to Riverview and given an experimental lobotomy. His state of mind was 'out of control', and at the time there was no other way of dealing with it than removing part of his head.
When the family went to visit it was always a dreadful affair, only happening due to obligation. He died alone years later.
His wife ended up living out her days in a church shelter and a few of his six children ended up leading fairly normal lives.
And that's just a wee excerpt from my family history.
I sat cross-legged right on top of him in the cozy bed of moss. I figured he might be wondering who the hell I was and I wondered in return if someone who has had a lobotomy (therefore no real conscious mind when death comes about) - if they go back to their original (pure) state of mind when their soul floats about the earth and around their rack of bones?
In 1972 at the age of 73, he was buried nine feet deep in hopes his wife would eventually be interned atop of his casket. Not over her dead body, apparently. She decided the cemetery in Burnaby would be much better for her - the farther away, the better.
Stories float around within the family and I'm quite sure there was a time when my Grandpa, along with his mother and five siblings, fled their home with Liudvik chasing them with a giant kitchen knife.
It was Edmundus (Gramps) who got everyone out of the house when Liudvik lit the house on fire. I think this is when he was admitted to Riverview and given an experimental lobotomy. His state of mind was 'out of control', and at the time there was no other way of dealing with it than removing part of his head.
When the family went to visit it was always a dreadful affair, only happening due to obligation. He died alone years later.
His wife ended up living out her days in a church shelter and a few of his six children ended up leading fairly normal lives.
And that's just a wee excerpt from my family history.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
I'm Not Kidding
LUPOSLIPAPHOBIA: An abnormal, persistent fear of being pursued by timber wolves around a kitchen table while wearing socks on a newly waxed floor.
Monday, February 28, 2011
BAKED
After having a shit-brain week in my non-existent 'amour' department, I spent today tired and sick of being on the internet (...but here I am).
Social networking sites bring out the evils of ridiculous obsession. So, I resolved to stop sitting at the kitchen table to just twiddle my night away on the internet. Yes, I'm here, but I'm standing. At the kitchen counter. See, I needed a chocolate chip banana bourbon bread recipe and so here I am, post-putting-loaf-in-oven.
I needed to come home tonight and pour that bourbon in the batter and pour myself one at the same time. I put on Springsteen's Born to Run and did the dishes while shuffling my feet in the working class way.
(interlude - check out my friend toby's blog: www.tobymarie.com)
Baking is the ultimate 'reality check' I can give myself - what's being made will become something and I make it happen, without trying too hard. Ultimate satisfaction when I feel a bit hopeless in other areas of my life. It makes me want to refuse the refuse.
You should try it some time.
Social networking sites bring out the evils of ridiculous obsession. So, I resolved to stop sitting at the kitchen table to just twiddle my night away on the internet. Yes, I'm here, but I'm standing. At the kitchen counter. See, I needed a chocolate chip banana bourbon bread recipe and so here I am, post-putting-loaf-in-oven.
I needed to come home tonight and pour that bourbon in the batter and pour myself one at the same time. I put on Springsteen's Born to Run and did the dishes while shuffling my feet in the working class way.
(interlude - check out my friend toby's blog: www.tobymarie.com)
Baking is the ultimate 'reality check' I can give myself - what's being made will become something and I make it happen, without trying too hard. Ultimate satisfaction when I feel a bit hopeless in other areas of my life. It makes me want to refuse the refuse.
You should try it some time.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Now What You See
I'm taking the night off the radio to sit in the middle of my living room floor with two blankets beneath me and a large, wool cape keeping the rest of me warm. I've chosen music.
Earlier, I was laying with two pillows beneath my head, that kept sliding out from under me onto the empty hardwood floor. I gave up and sat, staring at a computer screen that didn't change.
I left the house around eleven this morning to get breakfast at work - only to be scolded for being grumpy the previous Sunday. I apologized, though in my head I wanted to say, Fuck You. a million times over. I ate and exited quickly, walking in the snow to buy cinnamon buns and firewood. I was home within an hour.
I'm out of the bath and a pot of water is simmering on the stove, letting off some moisture in an otherwise bone-dry household. I added some 'aromatherapy' in the hope of it actually working.
I've been feeling fairly manic lately, school is busy and I've been hired on at a new job - which is really exciting, and maybe I can leave this other one behind...but still, my brain is an odd one.
I made a note to someone the other day, saying that experiencing a different kind of loneliness than I ever have before is making me more aware of who I am.
This is getting to me (it could easily be said that just getting laid would be the answer), and I find myself seeking out attention from the guys I normally tell other girls to stay away from.
I like it... (insert a flirty wink here)
But here I am at home, with a coffee and a glass of water, alone with paper surrounding me.
I would give anything to be somewhere else.
Earlier, I was laying with two pillows beneath my head, that kept sliding out from under me onto the empty hardwood floor. I gave up and sat, staring at a computer screen that didn't change.
I left the house around eleven this morning to get breakfast at work - only to be scolded for being grumpy the previous Sunday. I apologized, though in my head I wanted to say, Fuck You. a million times over. I ate and exited quickly, walking in the snow to buy cinnamon buns and firewood. I was home within an hour.
I'm out of the bath and a pot of water is simmering on the stove, letting off some moisture in an otherwise bone-dry household. I added some 'aromatherapy' in the hope of it actually working.
I've been feeling fairly manic lately, school is busy and I've been hired on at a new job - which is really exciting, and maybe I can leave this other one behind...but still, my brain is an odd one.
I made a note to someone the other day, saying that experiencing a different kind of loneliness than I ever have before is making me more aware of who I am.
This is getting to me (it could easily be said that just getting laid would be the answer), and I find myself seeking out attention from the guys I normally tell other girls to stay away from.
I like it... (insert a flirty wink here)
But here I am at home, with a coffee and a glass of water, alone with paper surrounding me.
I would give anything to be somewhere else.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Okay okay I'm sorry
In case anyone actually reads this, I just want to apologize for my writings as of late. I am pretty much only letting off 'academic steam' as they say, and I really am not taking any interest in what I'm actually putting down, know what I'm sayin'?
So, some news:
1. My schizophrenic great uncle John passed away a couple of weeks ago, and before his blood was even cold a good bunch family members came to loot the house: his car, his tools, his lawnmower(s), his TV (that great aunt Sophia took the last time he was in the hospital, but he didn't die, so she had to bring it back)...classy. My dad says it comes from being dirt poor when they were kids, and somehow they think that if they take their dead brother's stuff their poverty memories will be washed away forever by having the wealth of a used car. I totally don't get that, and no one in my family thought any of this was a problem until my dad was like, "Hey, you guys...he JUST died. Like TWO days ago. And you don't even know if you have the latest copy of the will."
So everyone stopped looting but really, why stop now? The house is apparently pretty empty already - and on the bright side, I'm pretty sure John wasn't ever attached to his possessions. (This is a true story)
2. Pretty much every conversation I have with anyone I know about what I want to do with my life, I say "I HAVE NO IDEA!!!" And then I say something about how I'd really like to help Natasha & Aaron at the Studio Society (non-profit arts programmes for people in the DTES), because I am really excited about what they're doing and I really want to get people excited about writing.
So anyway, I'm walking down the street (in the DTES, funny?) and I get a phonecall. It's a Saturday. It's Natasha! And she offers me a job. With the Studio Society. To help facilitate workshops, do some administration and to possibly help with the publishing.
!!!!!!!!!!!
It's only a few hours a week, but I can't tell anyone how happy I am. This is keeping my blood flowing during the midterm funk (? err). And it may be very temporary, but that honestly doesn't matter. I'm sitting in my first (attendance to be overflowing!) workshop tomorrow night...again, very excited.
Now I'm off to write a midterm I didn't really study for because I was too busy text messaging about how in Quebec it's legal to marry a 12-yr-old. And whether or not it was okay for Jerry Lee Lewis to marry a 13-yr-old when he was 23. A 13-yr-old who was his cousin.
So, some news:
1. My schizophrenic great uncle John passed away a couple of weeks ago, and before his blood was even cold a good bunch family members came to loot the house: his car, his tools, his lawnmower(s), his TV (that great aunt Sophia took the last time he was in the hospital, but he didn't die, so she had to bring it back)...classy. My dad says it comes from being dirt poor when they were kids, and somehow they think that if they take their dead brother's stuff their poverty memories will be washed away forever by having the wealth of a used car. I totally don't get that, and no one in my family thought any of this was a problem until my dad was like, "Hey, you guys...he JUST died. Like TWO days ago. And you don't even know if you have the latest copy of the will."
So everyone stopped looting but really, why stop now? The house is apparently pretty empty already - and on the bright side, I'm pretty sure John wasn't ever attached to his possessions. (This is a true story)
2. Pretty much every conversation I have with anyone I know about what I want to do with my life, I say "I HAVE NO IDEA!!!" And then I say something about how I'd really like to help Natasha & Aaron at the Studio Society (non-profit arts programmes for people in the DTES), because I am really excited about what they're doing and I really want to get people excited about writing.
So anyway, I'm walking down the street (in the DTES, funny?) and I get a phonecall. It's a Saturday. It's Natasha! And she offers me a job. With the Studio Society. To help facilitate workshops, do some administration and to possibly help with the publishing.
!!!!!!!!!!!
It's only a few hours a week, but I can't tell anyone how happy I am. This is keeping my blood flowing during the midterm funk (? err). And it may be very temporary, but that honestly doesn't matter. I'm sitting in my first (attendance to be overflowing!) workshop tomorrow night...again, very excited.
Now I'm off to write a midterm I didn't really study for because I was too busy text messaging about how in Quebec it's legal to marry a 12-yr-old. And whether or not it was okay for Jerry Lee Lewis to marry a 13-yr-old when he was 23. A 13-yr-old who was his cousin.
Monday, February 21, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Today
Combine last night's bottle of wine, with todays slight hangover plus getting my period, having awful cramps and back pain and not wanting to move or think anything, with a midterm and a paper due tomorrow.
NOT STOKED!
NOT STOKED!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Elsewhere
I ate too many cheese and crackers last night before passing out on the couch and my face feels larger than normal.
This morning I am writing out pie crust recipes
and then I'm heading to the pool for a swim/sauna with Wendy.
And later this afternoon we're making pie, and hopefully Scrabble will ensue.
I just received a letter from a friend about how she's doing living somewhere else in the world, and it all makes me wonder why I'm still here.
There are days I look at the skyline and the trees lining the streets and the sprawling houses and the coziness of my living room and having a full book shelf and the faces of my friends and I love it. I feel so good about living here, mostly.
But when I tell people that there's nothing here that there is nothing keeping me here (job, significant other, project..) that's when I start wondering why. Of course, there are things that keep me here (see above: why I like Vancouver), but I should be/have been elsewhere at some point.
This morning I am writing out pie crust recipes
and then I'm heading to the pool for a swim/sauna with Wendy.
And later this afternoon we're making pie, and hopefully Scrabble will ensue.
I just received a letter from a friend about how she's doing living somewhere else in the world, and it all makes me wonder why I'm still here.
There are days I look at the skyline and the trees lining the streets and the sprawling houses and the coziness of my living room and having a full book shelf and the faces of my friends and I love it. I feel so good about living here, mostly.
But when I tell people that there's nothing here that there is nothing keeping me here (job, significant other, project..) that's when I start wondering why. Of course, there are things that keep me here (see above: why I like Vancouver), but I should be/have been elsewhere at some point.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Something I Learned Today
While reading an article on Japanese picture brides, I came upon this:
Not surprisingly, Japanese men seeking wives exerted considerable effort to present themselves in the best possible light, particularly as attractive, wealthy, well-educated prospects who had taken on the North American emblems of successful manhood. Thus, their letters to future brides often contained rosy stories of their living conditions, and the enclosed photographs often showed prospective husbands wearing black suits, white "high collar" shirts, and at times a homburg. Some interviewees even indicated that they had heard stories of men who had posed in front of a mansion or even the Hotel Vancouver, implying that they either lived in or owned the property.
Hahaha, can you imagine standing in front of the Hotel Vancouver claiming it was your own?
Now, can you imagine the bride's surprise when she met her husband for the first time? And then she and her new 'beau's shack was in the middle of nowhere (literally), with the bride having to do half her husband's job (not to mention her own domestic duties), raising her children, living in complete poverty and then having to obey to suck her husband's dick whenever he wanted it.
Anyway, apparently after spotting their shabby husbands from the boat deck, some of the brides would refuse to leave the ship and sailed back to Japan.
Not surprisingly, Japanese men seeking wives exerted considerable effort to present themselves in the best possible light, particularly as attractive, wealthy, well-educated prospects who had taken on the North American emblems of successful manhood. Thus, their letters to future brides often contained rosy stories of their living conditions, and the enclosed photographs often showed prospective husbands wearing black suits, white "high collar" shirts, and at times a homburg. Some interviewees even indicated that they had heard stories of men who had posed in front of a mansion or even the Hotel Vancouver, implying that they either lived in or owned the property.
Hahaha, can you imagine standing in front of the Hotel Vancouver claiming it was your own?
Now, can you imagine the bride's surprise when she met her husband for the first time? And then she and her new 'beau's shack was in the middle of nowhere (literally), with the bride having to do half her husband's job (not to mention her own domestic duties), raising her children, living in complete poverty and then having to obey to suck her husband's dick whenever he wanted it.
Anyway, apparently after spotting their shabby husbands from the boat deck, some of the brides would refuse to leave the ship and sailed back to Japan.
Distraction
MY GOD what I'd do for a beer right now.
A good beer. A pint of it. A nice, delicious pint of bitter.
Oh, and some handsome company would be ever so interesting, too.
I'm just drinking tea and eating Cajun Mix and looking at picture of Zach Galifianakis with his shirt off right now, enjoying a nice time of 8:10 PM on a Monday evening, an open book of paper in front of me that at some point this evening I'll get to.
A good beer. A pint of it. A nice, delicious pint of bitter.
Oh, and some handsome company would be ever so interesting, too.
I'm just drinking tea and eating Cajun Mix and looking at picture of Zach Galifianakis with his shirt off right now, enjoying a nice time of 8:10 PM on a Monday evening, an open book of paper in front of me that at some point this evening I'll get to.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
I've figured something out?
After taking a couple of tylenol and washing them down with a chocolate-y coffee, I figured I would be ready for the whole homework thing.
In case anyone wasn't aware: school blows.
Okay, so I know I'm in first year courses and I'm 25 and I know that it's hard to find interesting courses to take when you're doing a university transfer program, but couldn't my profs give one shit about what they're talking about? One them in particular is getting us to read a chapter of a textbook and go over the definitions of the bold-faced words in the following class (uhhh, and it's a second year English course). Either she is a complete and total dingbat or she thinks we're a bunch of fucking morons.
Thanks for the tuition bill and a waste of time, Langara.
Of course, there is a possibility that I've lost my smarts over the past seven years, have become increasingly cynical and I simply can't find anything that's interesting whatsoever. I may just belong to the zombified masses, in a strange parade of people eating potato chips, guffaw-ing at Family Guy and giving up on what their dreams ever were.
I just really don't want that.
So basically I've come to question my decisions. I assumed that taking a semester enrolled in courses that seemed interesting may revive my interests, my care for the world, my joie de vivre, whatever...and I feel like it may be working - just in an opposite sort of way.
I've realized that I'd rather just take some fucking books out of the library and play out scenarios in my head so the information takes. I'd rather be travelling and wandering around new neighbourhoods, talking to new people, trying new things (without a huge commitment and a $5000/semester bill) and picking up new novels that will remind me of what I love. Who needs a career, and what is a career these days anyway? Academia is the alternative, dark pit of snotty intellectual despair way of living. Obviously I'll do it if I must (I'm going to finish the semester, because it's either this or going back to serving at this point), like say if I really do need a degree in something to get some job title I want or a salary that is necessary (kids...house...etc)....but for some reason I just don't see that happening for quite a while (if ever).
I think that I'm realizing that I am willing to take that long, hard quest for happiness that will bring the dark moments as I go along.
What I'm trying to tell you is, I'm going to bake pies for a living.
In case anyone wasn't aware: school blows.
Okay, so I know I'm in first year courses and I'm 25 and I know that it's hard to find interesting courses to take when you're doing a university transfer program, but couldn't my profs give one shit about what they're talking about? One them in particular is getting us to read a chapter of a textbook and go over the definitions of the bold-faced words in the following class (uhhh, and it's a second year English course). Either she is a complete and total dingbat or she thinks we're a bunch of fucking morons.
Thanks for the tuition bill and a waste of time, Langara.
Of course, there is a possibility that I've lost my smarts over the past seven years, have become increasingly cynical and I simply can't find anything that's interesting whatsoever. I may just belong to the zombified masses, in a strange parade of people eating potato chips, guffaw-ing at Family Guy and giving up on what their dreams ever were.
I just really don't want that.
So basically I've come to question my decisions. I assumed that taking a semester enrolled in courses that seemed interesting may revive my interests, my care for the world, my joie de vivre, whatever...and I feel like it may be working - just in an opposite sort of way.
I've realized that I'd rather just take some fucking books out of the library and play out scenarios in my head so the information takes. I'd rather be travelling and wandering around new neighbourhoods, talking to new people, trying new things (without a huge commitment and a $5000/semester bill) and picking up new novels that will remind me of what I love. Who needs a career, and what is a career these days anyway? Academia is the alternative, dark pit of snotty intellectual despair way of living. Obviously I'll do it if I must (I'm going to finish the semester, because it's either this or going back to serving at this point), like say if I really do need a degree in something to get some job title I want or a salary that is necessary (kids...house...etc)....but for some reason I just don't see that happening for quite a while (if ever).
I think that I'm realizing that I am willing to take that long, hard quest for happiness that will bring the dark moments as I go along.
What I'm trying to tell you is, I'm going to bake pies for a living.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
After skipping school this afternoon, I hopped the bus down Main to meet Wendy for a much needed 'friend date'. And as I wiped tears out of my eyes and pushed play for some sad music to enter my headphones I had the perfect layout for the perfect journal post to describe how I'm feeling about everything right now.
But here I am, nine hours later, and all I really have to say at this point before I go to sleep and get back to the grind is that how out of place I feel in the general scheme of things can feel absolutely awful and ridiculous sometimes.
But tonight, I lounged around on someone's lovely comfy couch and had a bowl of delicious apple crisp and some even better company - life simply can't be all that bad.
But here I am, nine hours later, and all I really have to say at this point before I go to sleep and get back to the grind is that how out of place I feel in the general scheme of things can feel absolutely awful and ridiculous sometimes.
But tonight, I lounged around on someone's lovely comfy couch and had a bowl of delicious apple crisp and some even better company - life simply can't be all that bad.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Already It Has Happened
You know how when you're reading something and your eyes go out of focus, but you're still reading the letters and words - and so you are following along but your mind doesn't register a single sentence that your eyes have skimmed over? Well, I could probably finish reading all the chapters and articles assigned to me tonight however I can't say if I'll remember any of it at 930 tomorrow morning.
I have been 'doing' school since nine this morning. It's eight right now. I have probably taken 2 hours off (riding the bus/walking down the street/heating up dinner). I still have two hours of reading to do.
This is what I don't like about school. How about being self-paced? Can't I read about African-Nova Scotian and their social adjustment within society post-immigration when I feel like it? (Very bad at keeping focused here)
UPDATE: 10:32 pm .... I did it!
I have been 'doing' school since nine this morning. It's eight right now. I have probably taken 2 hours off (riding the bus/walking down the street/heating up dinner). I still have two hours of reading to do.
This is what I don't like about school. How about being self-paced? Can't I read about African-Nova Scotian and their social adjustment within society post-immigration when I feel like it? (Very bad at keeping focused here)
UPDATE: 10:32 pm .... I did it!
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Perfect Saturday Afternoon
1. Earl Grey tea
2. Apple slices with peanut butter
3. Sitting at the kitchen table
4. Stack of books in front of me
5. House to myself
6. WireTap with Jonathan Goldstein on the radio (side note: it just occurred to me that I want more friends like Jon's, more like Howard Chackowicz.)
And I've already been out of the house, morning spent with my sister having coffee, smelling perfume and finding her new glasses. I love downtown.
And I love that it's only two. Have I mentioned yet how much I am enjoying getting up at seven in the morning?
2. Apple slices with peanut butter
3. Sitting at the kitchen table
4. Stack of books in front of me
5. House to myself
6. WireTap with Jonathan Goldstein on the radio (side note: it just occurred to me that I want more friends like Jon's, more like Howard Chackowicz.)
And I've already been out of the house, morning spent with my sister having coffee, smelling perfume and finding her new glasses. I love downtown.
And I love that it's only two. Have I mentioned yet how much I am enjoying getting up at seven in the morning?
Friday, January 14, 2011
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Random Thoughts
While I'm trying to clean my room these things are coming up:
I often think about whether or not I classify as a grownup. Like, does the fact that I had a blueberry bagel (toasted, with butter) and some popcorn for dinner make me mature?
I feel constant guilt about my laziness.
My room is so fucking small I constantly bang my left knee on the edge of the bed frame. Really hard-like.
Old books that I've purchased from Bygone Books (Nanaimo) are being added to the shelf: The Lady With the Camelias by Alexandre Dumas, Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson (already own a copy but this is a nicer one - and I guess it's not really old but who cares), and Christmas Stories from 'Household Words' and 'All the Year Round' by Charles Dickens.
I'm going to bring back the sash next season. I have currently fashioned one out of the bottom of a dress I cut off. It's smashing.
Have I failed to mention lately how much I love and admire Bradford Cox?
Well now that I have accumulated all my laundry into one pile, changed my sheets and folded all my clothes I feel like a new person. However, this room still feels a tad too small - until I get into bed (which is where I am now).
One day I'll have enough space.
Can anyone tell that I'm reading a novel about a bunch of Brits? 'smashing' and 'tad' and
I often think about whether or not I classify as a grownup. Like, does the fact that I had a blueberry bagel (toasted, with butter) and some popcorn for dinner make me mature?
I feel constant guilt about my laziness.
My room is so fucking small I constantly bang my left knee on the edge of the bed frame. Really hard-like.
Old books that I've purchased from Bygone Books (Nanaimo) are being added to the shelf: The Lady With the Camelias by Alexandre Dumas, Jesus' Son by Denis Johnson (already own a copy but this is a nicer one - and I guess it's not really old but who cares), and Christmas Stories from 'Household Words' and 'All the Year Round' by Charles Dickens.
I'm going to bring back the sash next season. I have currently fashioned one out of the bottom of a dress I cut off. It's smashing.
Have I failed to mention lately how much I love and admire Bradford Cox?
Well now that I have accumulated all my laundry into one pile, changed my sheets and folded all my clothes I feel like a new person. However, this room still feels a tad too small - until I get into bed (which is where I am now).
One day I'll have enough space.
Can anyone tell that I'm reading a novel about a bunch of Brits? 'smashing' and 'tad' and
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Back to School Cool
Well, first day of school down and now I'm on to the second day of getting up at seven.
Observations?
A lot of (a few) girls are getting really dressed up.
With my own experience at college, mostly everyone wore sweatpants and giant hoodies. I guess yesterday was the first day and I did go to college seven years ago in a small place where people already wear sweatpants as an acceptable means of daily wear. I actually don't despise it as much as I used to...comfort is comfort. And no one will know how much weight you gain over the semester. But I saw a lot of dramatic lipstick and curled hair...I guess this is my 'duh' point - like, 'Duh, Heidi, it's the first day of school and you want to look great and wear everything that you got at the back-to-school sale.' (Side note - my observation of this doesn't really count because I mostly kept my head down and tried to avoid being seen. I am now considered a mature student and I wonder if anyone notices?)
There are no cute boys.
Okay, I saw one that might be okay in my psych lecture but...as expected most of the guys are wearing backwards hats, baggy jeans and texting on their blackberries and oh yeah, they're eighteen. Don't any of you like books?! (In truth, my English teacher actually asked if everyone had read a novel before, seeing as nowadays in high school it isn't necessarily required. And after that it's still possible to get into a second-year English course? What the hell is happening, here?)
FLORESCENT LIGHTING.
The dreaded bars of light sapping your strength and health. Minimal windows (if any). I know that all incandescent bulbs are being phased out now, and I'm not too bothered by it, but couldn't the schools order 'soft light' bulbs? And maybe smash some of the walls and put in more windows? I'm suffocating in here! My eyeballs won't register vision in this light!
Observations?
A lot of (a few) girls are getting really dressed up.
With my own experience at college, mostly everyone wore sweatpants and giant hoodies. I guess yesterday was the first day and I did go to college seven years ago in a small place where people already wear sweatpants as an acceptable means of daily wear. I actually don't despise it as much as I used to...comfort is comfort. And no one will know how much weight you gain over the semester. But I saw a lot of dramatic lipstick and curled hair...I guess this is my 'duh' point - like, 'Duh, Heidi, it's the first day of school and you want to look great and wear everything that you got at the back-to-school sale.' (Side note - my observation of this doesn't really count because I mostly kept my head down and tried to avoid being seen. I am now considered a mature student and I wonder if anyone notices?)
There are no cute boys.
Okay, I saw one that might be okay in my psych lecture but...as expected most of the guys are wearing backwards hats, baggy jeans and texting on their blackberries and oh yeah, they're eighteen. Don't any of you like books?! (In truth, my English teacher actually asked if everyone had read a novel before, seeing as nowadays in high school it isn't necessarily required. And after that it's still possible to get into a second-year English course? What the hell is happening, here?)
FLORESCENT LIGHTING.
The dreaded bars of light sapping your strength and health. Minimal windows (if any). I know that all incandescent bulbs are being phased out now, and I'm not too bothered by it, but couldn't the schools order 'soft light' bulbs? And maybe smash some of the walls and put in more windows? I'm suffocating in here! My eyeballs won't register vision in this light!
Friday, January 7, 2011
You Know Your House is Your Home
When you can dance around goofily in your kitchen with a glass of wine in one hand and a bunch of chips in the other listening to mix cds from 2004.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
For Future Reference
"hi, love u!"
"no i love you"
"nope i love u most"
"yup like this much"
"yeah! like that"
"from here to there"
"and it would be farther if there were more distance between here and there, like say if the world stretched a bit"
"it looks tiny but only cuz it's sooooo far away"
"yeah its kinda like the sun - if you stare at it for too long you'll go blind"
"or the moon. sometimes looks massive other times can't see it... it its there. making huge waves or giving headaches"
"yeah, i like the moon better"
"me too. i would never give you a burn"
"more exciting stories are held in the moon
same here - or i would but only in a nice way."
"ya. 5 minutes at a time. I want more time with you than that"
"ya same.
well i am glad we settled that "
"no i love you"
"nope i love u most"
"yup like this much"
"yeah! like that"
"from here to there"
"and it would be farther if there were more distance between here and there, like say if the world stretched a bit"
"it looks tiny but only cuz it's sooooo far away"
"yeah its kinda like the sun - if you stare at it for too long you'll go blind"
"or the moon. sometimes looks massive other times can't see it... it its there. making huge waves or giving headaches"
"yeah, i like the moon better"
"me too. i would never give you a burn"
"more exciting stories are held in the moon
same here - or i would but only in a nice way."
"ya. 5 minutes at a time. I want more time with you than that"
"ya same.
well i am glad we settled that "
A Mother's Advice on Dating:
I spoke with my Mom on the phone this evening and told her I have a date tomorrow night. She asked what we would be doing and I said, "Well he asked me to dinner, so...."
"Well make sure you go somewhere that has lots of vegetables."
"Oh, yes, Mom. Of course I am going to eat lots of vegetables."
"And don't drink too much. Does he work?"
"Yes, Mom, he works.(sarcastically:)Actually no, Mom...he's on welfare. I'm paying for everything."
"How old is he?"
"I think about thirty?"
"Okay, so he's not an old fogey or anything."
"Well make sure you go somewhere that has lots of vegetables."
"Oh, yes, Mom. Of course I am going to eat lots of vegetables."
"And don't drink too much. Does he work?"
"Yes, Mom, he works.(sarcastically:)Actually no, Mom...he's on welfare. I'm paying for everything."
"How old is he?"
"I think about thirty?"
"Okay, so he's not an old fogey or anything."
Monday, January 3, 2011
Swimming
Ahhhhh.
But there's nothing like plunging into a deep pool of water, breaking into silence when your blood cools down, slows down and you exhale everything that could possibly be bothering the parts where your brain boils.
But there's nothing like plunging into a deep pool of water, breaking into silence when your blood cools down, slows down and you exhale everything that could possibly be bothering the parts where your brain boils.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Lists.
It's resolution time! Yesterday during Hangover Breakfast 2011 at our place, someone started asking what our resolutions were. I don't think we got around to everyone, but it seemed most people had things they wanted to do in the next year to improve their lives.
I don't normally make resolutions because I never keep them...or I make them absent-mindedly and never really put much focus into them, but there isn't much harm in making a resolution or two if you don't put too much pressure on yourself - so I have a few...
1. Eat healthier. This would mean less salt, more vegetables. Salt is my favourite food group, so I know this is going to be difficult.
2. Quit Smoking. For the second time...I had a good handle on myself a couple of years ago. I know I can do this again. I want to be over the cigarettes by the end of January.
3. Swim more. This one is going to be easy 'cause I'm marching right over to the Hillcrest pool tomorrow and getting a six-month pass. It's ten blocks or so from school, which is gonna be perfect.
4. GO CAMPING. I haven't gone in four years. I think it's time to sleep in the woods again.
5. Get my learner's license. Uhhhhm. 'Bout damn time I try this whole driving thing again.
6. Less fear, more confidence.
7. Spend more time with my friends, have company at the house, meet new people....try more socializing.
8. Make new meals! New food! At home!
I don't normally make resolutions because I never keep them...or I make them absent-mindedly and never really put much focus into them, but there isn't much harm in making a resolution or two if you don't put too much pressure on yourself - so I have a few...
1. Eat healthier. This would mean less salt, more vegetables. Salt is my favourite food group, so I know this is going to be difficult.
2. Quit Smoking. For the second time...I had a good handle on myself a couple of years ago. I know I can do this again. I want to be over the cigarettes by the end of January.
3. Swim more. This one is going to be easy 'cause I'm marching right over to the Hillcrest pool tomorrow and getting a six-month pass. It's ten blocks or so from school, which is gonna be perfect.
4. GO CAMPING. I haven't gone in four years. I think it's time to sleep in the woods again.
5. Get my learner's license. Uhhhhm. 'Bout damn time I try this whole driving thing again.
6. Less fear, more confidence.
7. Spend more time with my friends, have company at the house, meet new people....try more socializing.
8. Make new meals! New food! At home!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
in conversation
"my ears are ringing so hard right now from the sound of my own voice"
- new years day brunch at our place
- new years day brunch at our place
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