the unplumbed depths of a shallow girl

about the size of it

2010-02-05T21:20:00.003-05:00

One afternoon last September, a co-worker walked me to an interview, while a ton of people sent good vibes my way, hoping very much that I'd be successful. Some had even murmured that, while the process was, as always, scrupulously fair, this was, in a way, a formality. One person outright asked, saying they'd heard I was returning to the job I loved.

It was, you see, an interview for a job that I'd done before, and at which I'd been relatively good, and that I'd loved to pieces. It broke my heart when my secondment was up and I had to return to my regular job.

I kept myself numbed out, feeling quiet, trying not to think about the interview and testing, knowing that if there was any hope of getting in front of the interview panel, let alone through the competition, it would mean not preparing. Preparation would lead to overt self-hatred and feelings of uselessness, and jeopardise my health and well-being. Instead of feeling ready to take on all comers, I'd be doing other candidates the favour of psyching myself out and withdrawing.

In the end, it didn't matter. Despite trying to breathe, rationalise, talk myself down from the tides of panic and self-flagellation, I dissolved during the pre-interview test, and fled.

The day was sparkling, and I was resplendent in my interview finery, whimpering, devastated, hating myself and my weakness as the streetcar carried me home.

I was just managing to keep it together, breathing raggedly, tomato-faced, and refraining from sub-vocal cries of despair.

And then...

The poor, poor, slimy man approaching me made the mistake of slimily saying, "Hello, beautiful lady."

The floodgates opened. I bawled like a baby right in his face. Loudly. I bawled my way home, all the way down the last block.

I'm pretty sure he was too terrified to indulge his lecherous tendencies for at least a week.

Poor slimy man.

2009-08-12T07:16:00.001-04:00

I’m a fairly pale, delicate-skinned, single girl with a finely-tuned sense of the ridiculous. I happen to live in a loft with no air conditioning and one window, sans bug screen. It’s been…how you say in my language…HOT over the last couple of days. So of course, I’ve had the window open at night to encourage some air circulation so that the cats, the litterbox, and I can sleep in relative comfort.

I awoke at 5 a.m. with that incredible, lucid awakeness that can only happen when you’ve been roused unnaturally…and which one later realises was a state of semi-sleep. I was dreaming about…something…something to do with my hands, and my shoulders, and my face. Something…vaguely distressing and repeated and…itchy. OH MY GOD I’M ON ITCH-FIRE!!!

What better prey for a mosquito than a pale, recumbent creature with a few patches of conveniently-exposed, above-the-sheets flesh? And what better mosquito for such reactively itchy, swell-like-a-puffer-fish prey than one compelled to bite a there-should-be-a-law-against-it number of times?

Several fingers. Shoulder (twice). Back. Eyelid. Eyelid? Yes. You’ve got to be kidding me.

I saw the little bastard(ess) shortly after The Incident. She saw me, too, and flew through a wormhole in the space-time continuum. Dammit.

But then…ohoho then…I saw her again. It was an epic battle, which culminated in my STOMPING her but good, and smearing my own blood (courtesy of fingers, shoulder, back, and eyelid (eyelid? yes. you’ve got to be kidding me)) across the floor. I’ve never been so satisfied in wiping up my own blood before, let me tell you.

So if you happen to be downtown in the early afternoon and witness Quasimodo lurching screaming from a building, that’ll be me, driven insane by hallucinations due to the combined torture of the itchy and the lack of sleep.

elementality

2009-08-11T14:25:00.002-04:00

two drivellings, a week apart, here together courtesy of the weather.

Thunderperfect. Mine.
The soap ran down the windows
in the force of the torrent.
Mine were clean to the eye, I thought,
but not in truth.

It took an outburst
to show the residue left behind
(a clinging film)
Did it affect my view?

Can't see. Can't focus. Can't think.
Casual office talk of heartbreak-not-mine
that cuts me to the core.

I wish for a film, a skin,
a permeable membrane
to protect me from impingement
...but which would let the missing elements in.

A downpour, and a thunder canon.

* * *

The thunder between us
A cityscape apart; we're blue sparks in the ether
But the rolling sound
travels between, unfurls across.
An aural connection;
We hear it together.

2009-07-30T09:06:00.000-04:00

I’ve decided I want to be a traveller in my own city. I want to see everything with fresh eyes. I want to make more art. Stick things to other things. Sketch. Play with paint. Go on adventures, solo or otherwise. Feed my brain with colour and ideas. Read poetry. Create perspective.

Art supply shops do this to me. I’m not an artist by training or design, but the vaguely grubby aisles, the the wet and dry media – gessoes, pastes, powders, inks – the plethora of surfaces – light and heavy and handmade paper, canvas, cold-pressed, varied in weight and tooth – the implements – rollers, awls, brushes, palettes and nibs – it all speaks to me. It feels familiar and foreign; home and far-off lands combined. It speaks of solitude and community both.

I drink it in, but nowadays stop short of playing with any of it. Perhaps because, deep down, I’d like to work with it, and I’m forever dissatisfied with my efforts. Or I’m so overwhelmed at the choice of media that I freeze.

I feel no need to make pretty, empty art (pretty empty?), but I’m paralysed when it comes to embarking on something with meaning to or for me.

Hence my refuge in words…though my fear of the pretty empty and the tragically terrible has kept me from producing anything of substance even in words…if words can be said to have substance.

I think there’s a dichotomy within – creativity (freedom) and structure continually batter at one another and none of us wins.

And so I’ve decided I want to be a traveller in my own city. I want to see everything with fresh eyes…

trucking hell

2009-07-08T15:42:00.002-04:00

I'm overhauling a document (no pun intended, as you'll see...), which contains many gems like the following. The editor in me takes a horrified delight in stuff like this, whilst my planner-self and my actual self cringe...for different reasons.

For example, instead of one vehicle with two drivers (one daytime and one night-time), each performing an eight hour workday, time of day restrictions (typically twelve hours) force use of a second vehicle because 16 hours worth of work cannot be accomplished in 12 hours because of time taken loading and unloading products.

It is of such things as this that my work-days are currently made. In a cube farm, no less. Laugh? Cry? Have a quiet seizure? I've really got to get around to figuring out what I want to be when I grow up. I wonder how many more years I'll spend saying that to myself...

serendipity

2009-07-03T13:25:00.001-04:00

I made the usual mundane trundle up to my tobacconist to buy cigs. Weird to say I have a tobacconist (whose name, I’m ashamed to admit, I’ve forgotten). Guess I must be a grown-up, huh. He was there, as always, but there was an unknown woman helping him behind the counter. “She’s a mixed-media artist,” he said. “Show Sophia your work.” She pulled out an expensive artsy magazine with which I’m familiar (“I know this mag. Very well.” “See?” she said to him), and showed me an article based on her latest project. She was apparently the cover last issue.

So we got to talking about collage, and carving our own rubber stamps, and painting, and inspiration versus darker moments of being completely overwhelmed and putting it all away. Finding structure in other things, like knitting, or, in her case, crochet. “See?” she said to him. “She knows. She knows.” Common haunts, common acquaintances, common interests.

She invited me to join her artist trading card group. I'm almost to the point where I just might.

best work e-mail exchange in forever

2009-06-26T13:43:00.003-04:00

Manager: u there?

Me: yes.

Manager: Manager at college street entrance offering to buy soft serve ice cream from truck. any interest?

Me: hang on...we'll do up a memo... (i.e. hold tight)

Me: 2 say, yes please! 4 awol. should we come down?

Manager: Manager at college street entrance doesn't deliver.

2009-06-24T11:49:00.002-04:00

And so her mind came unto her and said, “Why art thou low, spirit?”
Her spirit replied, “A host of tangibles and a gross of intangibles* doth plague me, and alas, if there be means of smiting these great and terrible daemons, I know them not.”
Her mind declared, “For each Thing that troubles thee, I shall attach a balloon replete with helium to thee, and thou shalt be carried aloft by conscious construction. Inhale not great quantities of the precious helium, for thine voice shalt be rendered funny, and thy subsequent plummet to earth a thing of legend. In time, spirit, thou shalt lift thine own self under thine own power. For now, let’s go with the balloon-thing.”

*equivalent weight in metric fucktonnes yet to be calculated

conversions--the new math

2009-06-21T00:07:00.002-04:00

I love Mel for so many reasons. Here is but one of them (stemming from a conversation re: metric fucktonnes):

"A metric fuckgram is equivalent to the weight of one cubic centimetre of holy shit."

losses

2009-06-17T16:00:00.001-04:00

...and in the midst of all my navel-gazing, I am alive.

So sorry, Ms. J, about your sudden loss today, and other Ms. J, to hear about Zaidy.

x

Igor not here

2009-06-17T13:39:00.002-04:00

Change in the air. Masks coming off, others going on. New understandings of myself, coupled with a slow integration for once. I’m sad about it, in a way, but in the end it’s better for me. Why would I miss things that keep me weak? The basement-child romanticism is fading…leaving behind only the basement-child, but with a clearer view of the piles of ancient detritus needing my attention. It’s likely not possible to clear them all away—can any of us ever do that?—but at least there’ll be some breathing space. I spend far too much time in the attic (attic-child?), wishing the rest of my house didn’t exist. Am I past the point of being able to inhabit the rooms I’ve never seen? I don’t even know if they’re furnished—and with what, if they are.

***

Waiting for the bus yesterday, an 8-y-o boy declared: “Igor not here. Igor mind him own business.” “You’re lying,” his mother replied. “Sorry, master.” Igor repeated him lines several times before I realised him rehearsing for a play.

I tried to look it up online today, to figure out what play it was—and Google tells me it’s Igor Stravinsky’s birthday. I hope him have a happy birthday, even though him dead.

…and Sophia? Sophia not here. Sophia mind him own business. Sorry, master.

sadly accurate--but fantastic all the same

2009-06-11T10:46:00.002-04:00

I love me a good turn of phrase. Today's, courtesy of a co-worker, commenting on yours truly:

"You are a cloud in a field of silver linings."

Gorgeously, terribly true.

freedom

2009-06-09T15:57:00.003-04:00

“spider, let me go,” I said.
she spun me ’round with scarlet thread.
I thought it would disintegrate
and thus I settled down to wait.

as time went on, she spun more strands;
I lay quiescent in her hands.
surely, now, I thought they must
begin to break down into dust.

but still the spider added more;
I rested on her parlour floor,
hoping she’d seek other prey
--the bonds would break; I’d walk away.

ensnared in her nightmarish web
my confidence began to ebb.
remaining there was mother’s milk
as still she ’broidered spider-silk.

I’d thought my freedom worth the cost,
but now believed that all was lost
and so I let her poison me
with bitterness and lethargy.

I barely moved, so sure I’d fall
still held in greedy spider’s thrall.
half-dead, I stirred, then stumbled; rose
encased in clinging spider’s-clothes.

with ev’ry trembling lurch I made
loose threads pulled free; the spider swayed,
unable to spin fast enough
to keep me robed in silken stuff.

with all my will, I fought my plight,
began to see the spider’s might
lay in my studied apathy
--which let her keep ahold of me.

and on the silent battle raged;
the spider could not be assuaged
but finally, with strands undone,
I stood alone, the battle won.

I fought with body, heart, and mind
and left the spider’s lair behind.
a man, unlike a hapless fly
can throw a spider’s plans awry.

if you, like me, become encased
in clinging, choking spider-lace
take heart, and shift, and you will see
that, in time, you too will be free.

two worlds collide

2009-06-08T08:45:00.002-04:00

With no sense of self-preservation, I approached the bride and groom standing outside their house in the twilight. “I’m just a tipsy stranger on the street, but I was wondering if I could read you something to celebrate your wedding day.” Right away, I knew it was bad. When strangers approached me on my wedding day—several did—I was charmed. I made the foolish assumption that these two people I didn’t know would have the same sentiment about these things. But they were simply two harsh, ugly people in fancy clothes, who brushed me off, mocked me, and ‘what-the-fucked’ at one another as I walked away.

I was shaking. It was my own fault for imposing myself on their day. It would’ve been a long, taxing one, and the last thing they were interested in was some decidedly naïve wingnut soliloquising them when they could be off fucking somewhere.

I approached, was rebuffed, and tried to rationalise with myself about it. It upset me more than it should have. I fought to keep from crying, and felt humiliated and angry. Was it my fault, or was it theirs, or somewhere in-between?

***
earlier that same day...

The little girl (about 7 or so) arrived at the intersection of two footpaths ahead of her parents. Though there was no sun, she pointedly shaded her eyes and tracked my approach. As usual, all I could think was how I was setting such a bad example by smoking. I started to pass her. Eyes still shaded, she tilted her head up to look up—waaaay up—at me, and declaimed, “HI!!” I responded in kind as her parents laughed in half-surprise, half-indulgence. As I carried on, buoyed by the happy laughter at my back, I bemusedly tried to recall if I’d ever been that confident as a child.

ninety-eight percent

2009-05-31T23:23:00.002-04:00

Ninety-eight percent of human misery lies in anticipation.

I have no idea who originally said this, but dad used to say it all the time. And it's true. How much of our lives do we spend worrying about things that never come to pass, or that are nowhere near as terrible as we imagine they'll be?

I'm certainly guilty of this. I'm a total drama queen, creating endless horror movies in my head over things that really aren't as big a deal as I lead myself to believe. There's an element of prudence in thinking ahead, sure, but why do we make ourselves miserable about things that are beyond our control, or, when we step back from them, not nearly so awful as they seem when we allow ourselves to remain immersed in them? Wallow in them, even.

And yet I derive endless distraction from this unhealthy habit of distortion. Do I actually enjoy making myself feel rotten?

I'd like to challenge myself to spend more time sitting with what is, the good and the bad, and less time projecting myself into imagined futures where everything's falling down around my ears. Yes, that may happen, but there's an equal chance that things will turn out just fine.

We do have some power to create what we expect--like that other old chestnut: whether you think you can or think you can't, you're right.

And so I expect that my life will be fucking fabulous. I will make it so.

bollocksing

2009-05-30T21:59:00.001-04:00

Sometimes there are no words, but there's a desire to reach out all the same. I'm a beacon, I'm the moth, battering my wings against the porch light.

the seven deadlies

2009-05-25T14:28:00.002-04:00

I filled this out a few years ago on my other blog--and had forgotten how interesting it is. So I thought I'd do it again. Fascinating to see which of my answers have shifted, and which have stayed the same.

Wrath
1. Who did you last get angry with?
myself

2. What is your weapon of choice?
a) words b) steel-toed boots

3. Would you hit a member of the opposite sex?
Depending on the situation (i.e. self-defence, or an impassioned request), yes.

4. How about of the same sex?
Same as above.

5. Who was the last person who got really angry at you?
my brother, as far as I know…

6. What is your pet peeve?
SUVs…and improper word use

Sloth
1. What is one thing you're supposed to do daily that you haven't done in a long time?
Floss.

2. What is the latest you've ever woken up?
3 p.m., if I remember right - but that was after going to bed post-sunrise.

3. Name a person you've been meaning to contact, but haven't?
my arch-nemesis

4. What is the last lame excuse you made?
I've got an errand to run, so I'll see you later (unspoken subtext being: ...and it means I don't have to suffer walking down the street in your company).

5. Have you ever watched an infomercial all the way through?
Only short ones. My hands-down favourite is the slap chopper.

6. When was the last time you got in a good workout?
Depends on what constitutes a “workout”. :) If we're talking in the traditional, exercisey sense, it's been years.

7. How many times did you hit the snooze button on your alarm clock today?
3 or 4…too sleepy to remember

Gluttony
1. What is your overpriced yuppie beverage of choice?
cinnamon dolce lattes.

2. Meat eater?
Have been known as one.

3. What is the greatest amount of alcohol you've had in one sitting/outing/event?
Nine pints on a pub run in 1994. The only time I’ve ever actually blacked out, and the only time I’ve woken up still drunk. I couldn't find my flat key, dissolved in tears and was taken in by another flat. I discovered the next day the key was in my pocket—which I'd frantically checked about 10 times.

4. Have you ever used a professional diet company?
No.

5. Do you have an issue with your weight?
No - more with my fitness.

6. Do you prefer sweets, salty foods, or spicy foods?
Savoury, actually.

7. Have you ever looked at a small house pet or child and thought lunch?
Maaaaybe...but more from a cuteness perspective over hunger.

Lust
1. How many people have you seen naked (not counting movies/family)?
Hmmmm. In person? Over 30 (this is counting streakers at parties and such).

2. How many people have seen YOU naked (not counting physicians/family)?
Somewhere between 25 & 30.

3. Have you ever caught yourself staring at the chest/crotch of a member of the opposite gender during a normal conversation?
Maybe once or twice.

4. Have you "done it"?
Darling, I have done many things. “It” may certainly have been one of them.

5. What is your favourite body part on a person of your gender of choice?
Women's torsos, and men's chests and arms…though there’s also that *great* line of skin on guys that runs from the top of their hip and into their trousers…

6. Have you ever been propositioned by a prostitute?
Nope…but I’ve been propositioned by people that think I’m one, thanks to the n’hood I live in. C’mon, buddy—I’m wearing polar fleece, for heckins’ sake.

7. Have you ever had to get tested for an STD or pregnancy?
Yes.

Greed
1. How many credit cards do you own?
One.

2. What's your guilty pleasure store?
Indigo.

3. If you had $1 million, what would you do with it?
Pay off student loans, look after my mum, and invest the rest.

4. Would you rather be rich, or famous?
Rich - hands down.

5. Would you accept a boring job if it meant you would make megabucks?
Perhaps for a while, but I'd have to quit eventually, 'cos I'd go mad.

6. Have you ever stolen anything?
Yes. From shops as a yearning-to-be-bad teenager, and perhaps a few hearts.

7. How many MP3s are on your hard drive?
A couple of thou. and counting, ‘cos I’m laaaaazy…perhaps this q should have been cross-referenced to ‘sloth’.

Pride
1. What's one thing you have done that you're most proud of?
Baring all.

2. What one thing have you done that your parents are most proud of?
Getting a 2nd uni. degree.

3. What thing would you like to accomplish in your life?
So many things, so little time. Learn to speak another language with fluency, rather than squeaking by on vocab alone.

4. Do you get annoyed by coming in second place?
Depends on what it's second place for. If it's something I'm good at, then yes.

5. Have you ever entered a contest of skill, knowing you were of much higher skill than all the other competitors?
No.

6. Have you ever cheated on something to get a higher score?
Yes, but not on anything that would have cheated another out of their rightful laurels. Usually on computer games and such, to get somewhere that’s been damnably out of reach for far too long, despite my best efforts.

7. What did you do today that you're proud of?
Summed up the emperor's lack of clothing with articulate flair.

Envy
1. What item (or person) of your friends’ would you most want to have for your own?
Wow. This is a toughie. I can think of no attached anyone I would want to have—totally non-negotiable. Thingwise…Mel’s print of the girl in the tree.

2. Who would you want to go on "Trading Spaces" with?
Kaffe Fassett.

3. If you could be anyone else in the world, who would it be?
That's a tough one, not knowing what darknesses folks may have. I'm not going to answer, because I've spent several minutes thinking about it and am at a loss.

4. Have you ever been cheated on?
Yes.

5. Have you ever wished you had a physical feature different from your own?
You know, I did when I was younger (either violet or green eyes, instead of blue-grey, wanting to be taller [yes, really], wanting less problematic skin), but now, I'm not so sure. I just want to be fitter - and if I got off my arse, that could be a reality.

6. What inborn trait do you see in others that you wish you had for yourself?
Patience with stupid questions like this one.

thanks for coming out

2009-05-22T09:08:00.000-04:00

"At this time I would also like to formally thank Sophia Rosalind for her contribution as the Senior Issues Advisor for P&P Division during the fall to early spring. Her attention to detail, her knowledge of and passion for many P&P issues were an asset to the team during a busy time. Personally, I particularly appreciated the sense of humour she brought to lighten up my mood on many an early morning!"

pruning

2009-05-20T14:36:00.000-04:00

I removed a dead tree from my bedroom last night.

My neighbour knocked on the door back in January or February. “Are you good with plants?” he asked. I warily responded that I had been known to keep them alive. “I just put a sick lime tree in the garbage—we’re tired of caring for it—but it’s so cold outside and I feel terrible about letting it freeze to death.”

I already knew the fate of said sickly tree (given my paltry reserves of energy), but I weakly agreed to take it in (given my paltry reserves of energy), complete with a bottle of spray for scale, which was its dire affliction. I religiously washed down the branches and remaining leaves for about a week before I decided to move it out of my narrow entranceway and into my bedroom…where it subsequently languished and died under my splendid inattention.

I got around to sweeping up the fallen leaves in mid-March.

Since then, I’ve been angling myself around its skeletal presence as I navigate my bedroom, thinking, “I really should get around to chucking this thing.” Apathy and embarrassment kept me from doing so for far, far too long.

Last night, I finally braced myself, hoisted the gargantuan urn, and, with its spindly occupant stabbing and scratching at me all the way, wrestled it to the garbage room and interred it in the giant skip housed therein.

This morning, I caught myself ducking around a non-existent wraithtree out of habit. Sometimes even positive change needs time for adjustment.

While in some ways it was a small action, it felt huge to me. I removed a dead tree from my bedroom last night.

the curious task of repelling a cat

2009-05-17T11:36:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, occasion dictates that you must walk away from a cat--you might be going to the corner store, or the train station, or it might be a cat that you greeted on the sidewalk. Though it's sorely tempting, you must not look back as you walk away from the cat. Ever. Even if it's just to sneak a glance and see where the cat is in relation to yourself. The cat will take any glance--friendly, hostile, indifferent--as an invitation to follow. You might, in a fit of well-meaning, or later in a fit of exasperation, attempt to lecture the cat, and encourage it to stay where it is. You might even lead the cat back to that spot. All will be in vain. The cat will continue to follow, because you've paid attention to it. The type of attention doesn't matter--any attention at all will cause the cat to follow.

The only thing that will stop a cat from following you is ignoring it. For a while, it might trail behind you--it might feel as though you will never shake the cat--but provided you keep your gaze firmly ahead of you, it will eventually lose interest. This may take a long time, but it's possible to do--provided you can keep your eyes off the cat.

Look! Up in the sky!

2009-05-14T22:47:00.001-04:00

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's...wow. I think it's the lung I just hacked up.

apparently it is rocket science...

2009-05-13T09:06:00.003-04:00

Found this online, which, while ostensibly about a particular scientific concept, fits life at this moment with comical beauty:

to sleep, perchance to not-think

2009-05-12T20:35:00.003-04:00

Am doing relatively well, overall, what with knitting pasties, hanging with Mellificent, and fighting a cold, but I'm tired of thinking. My brain is weary. Sadly, 8:30 seems terribly early for bed. Heh...tea and pornography, anyone? Oh, right. I don't have any of option 2 floating around in my monk-level-chaste apartment. Yarn porn it is, then.

snorfle

2009-05-11T10:55:00.001-04:00

Gah. Am suddenly snorty with cold. *refrains from wiping nose on sleeve*

musings

2009-05-10T20:01:00.002-04:00

My brother and I split the cost of dinner. He paid with his credit card; I gave him $60--all the cash I had. Mum offered to loan me $5 so I could get a coffee en route to work tomorrow, freeing me up to hit the bank later in the day; I said I'd pay her back the next time I saw her. My brother started telling mum that she should never give either of us money; that we didn't need it, and that neither he nor I would ever ask her for money. I protested that we loaned small amounts like this back and forth all the time. He looked directly at me and said "You have more money than she does," as though I'd never actually pay her back and my borrowing $5 for the sake of convenience was reprehensible. At that point, it didn't matter that he had a chip on his shoulder. I felt about an inch high, and about to burst into tears. I took the money back out of my wallet, and as I let it float back onto the table, declaring that I was going to the bank, he accused me of being spiteful. I left. I didn't know what else to say, since he'd declared this wasn't the time to talk about this.

I'm trying really hard to figure out what I could have done differently, short of not borrowing $5 from mum in the first place, which really didn't feel unreasonable to me. We all have issues, but why does it have to end up being so poisonous, with me spiralling into feeling like a shitty excuse for a human being, and my brother feeling self-righteous and unable to see that maybe he's channelling his anger at bigger issues into a tiny thing?

I feel as though we're never going to be able to connect. This was such a little thing in the grand scheme of things, and yet I don't know if I'll ever feel able to address it with him. Short of completely sorting my life out, becoming financially solvent and changing my personality so I don't withdraw/obsess/get depressed, I don't know if there's anything I can do to be good enough in his eyes.

I wish I could let it roll off my back, but I can't.

hmh...so much for dire prophecies of angst.

2009-05-07T13:16:00.003-04:00

I'm actually feeling pretty good...though I've likely cursed myself by saying so.

Work's been rather productive, though purely from the perspective of self-reflection. You can do a whole lotta navel-gazing with 8 hours unsullied by actual things to do. That said, I'd dearly love to do a whole lotta under-desk sleeping right about now. But I will not. I mean, if I did, I'd miss cake at 3 p.m. And I'm all about cake.

My design-m'own-sweater is progressing...though, I hasten to add, not at work--even I have limits.

Have declared my complete lack of interest in being a comet, and am feeling peaceful about that.

After tearing apart just about every as-yet-unpacked box in my place last night, I sat under my computer desk and chewed on my arm at my failure to find my Oblivion discs. After reading Living in Oblivion in its entirety, I'm jonesing for a serious hit of game. I'd forgotten how beautiful it is. Now then...do I pick up where I left off with an old character, or start a new one? Hmmm. Best start thinking of names now, since it takes me a painfully long time, made even more painful when I'm torn between wanting to play and wanting to come up with something good and staring at the screen. But if I'm going to spend potentially hundreds of hours with whoever-it-is, then dammit, a Name They Shall Have (tm).

A pair of blue sneakers passed me on the sidewalk last night, and strangely, they made me smile.

Impending events: Drunken Knitters on Friday (hooray!), and the Balloonacy Cabaret on Saturday with my superintendent and his girlfriend (hooray!).

So the angst may well rear its head, but right now, I'm muddling along in good spirits. How long has it been since I've been able to say that?? Go me.

my life is a dark pit of darkness

2009-05-05T11:10:00.003-04:00

I can feel my hormones asserting themselves for their occasional orgy of the insane. I will fight to remain logical—fight as hard as I can—but I can feel the paranoia sneaking in. And the despair. Oh, the despair. Dark pit of darkness, indeed. Anne Gwish knew well of what she spoke. It’s like watching a black tide rising around me, closing above my head, and while I’m aware of it, it’s hard—so hard—to refuse that negativity.

In a way, it’s akin to the sensation of being drunk—my observer-mind (that little core piece of you that remains compos mentis throughout) is there and functioning, but can’t assert itself enough to really affect what’s going on. At least this time I feel a little more together—but still. There’s a lot to overwhelm me if I let it. Dammit. I do. not. want. to let it. In fact, perhaps I'll experiment and turn it on itself and see what happens...

Another analogy that’s just come to me is that of a prisoner (my rational mind) in a cell, guarded by a raging, paranoid fundamentalist (my emotions, hopped up on a deadly hormonal/biochemical cocktail). It’s well-nigh impossible to reason with it; it parses every nuance of every exchange, every thought (which I’m wont to do anyway), but logic just does not factor into the equation.

So if anyone has an exchange with a more-manic-than-usual, raving lunatic wearing my guise, please excuse me as best you can.

I’ll see you on the other side.

here I am! ...kinda

2009-05-04T20:44:00.002-04:00

Still working on getting a complete pic, but here's a teaser fo' yiz'. Thanks Tim!

p.s. ...is it just me, or does my left eye (on yr right) look ever-so-slightly insane? Thinks to self in inside voice, see? I really am half-mad...

vectors

2009-05-04T11:29:00.003-04:00

These are only half-formed thoughts, but I’m pensive enough about them that I thought they were worth committing to the ether.

I’m different from your average person (whatever that means). I mean, yes, we’re all unique, but I do believe that, in our outward presentation at least, some of us are more unique than others, whether by accident or design.

Maybe it’s like vectors: We have common vectors—shared points of personality, belief, behaviour, interest, pop culture norms, etc.—but some of us share more of those common vectors than others. And some of us join up with only a few of the more common ones, but have whole separate constellations of vectors besides, that reach off into space, completely apart from the familiar points. We’ll all have our own vectors, of course, but maybe some of us have more than others.

Sometimes I think I have whole solar systems that stand alone. I despaired—despair, sometimes—of ever finding anyone whose vectors overlap sufficiently with my own…or whose are even visible from my own constellation with a telescope...or who’s able to see enough of mine via their own telescope to actually see me.

…but this doesn’t mean that I should limit myself & just go with someone because they are, for a time, all that’s there. That’s where I was at earlier this year. Despair can make us do stupid, damaging things. I was in danger of gracing someone with my presence who, when it comes down to it, has little if any interest in me, in my mind, my feelings, or my life. To them, I’m nothing but a shooting star with a nice tail that they still are firmly confident that they can catch. They can’t and don’t want to see that I’m much more than a sparkly comet.

And yet I was considering the pretence of being nothing more than a chunk of rock, burning out and disintegrating, because my despair at being recognised as anything more was that great, that all-encompassing.

Thanks to some deeply welcome perspective from a few sources, I’m now spreading out again into my vectors, inhabiting more of my constellations, contemplating the exploration of parts of my star systems that, until now, I’ve ignored. And recognising, once again, the vectors that I do share with others out there in the universe, whether they’re physically here or out there in the ether.

Ultimately, this is a personal equation to which I hold the ultimate solution (insofar as there is one!), but I’m so grateful for those that have contributed—and do contribute—to the calculations.

Thank you, from the ends of my earth.

why I LOVE my city

2009-05-03T00:19:00.002-04:00

Decided that, as a single nerd-girl on a Sat night, I should go to Sonic Boom and buy CDs. Which I did--a Smaug-sized haul, encompassing everything from Pure and the Northern Pikes to LL Cool J and Whodini.

En route to Spadina, eager to get home and bliss out down memory lane, I encountered a crowd on the sidewalk, and assumed it was a bizarrely disorganised queue for a new club...until I discovered they were listening to a band...performing from the back of a Budget cube van.

I was going to listen for a bit then wander on, but ultimately I spent about an hour and a half in the chilly evening, mesmerised, delighted, and dancing with a crowd of strangers to the Calrizians and the Slaxx (the former surf, and the latter bluesy rock). It was a priceless, priceless piece of wonderfulness, just watching people looking shocked, walking up and peering in to discover there actually was a drummer back there, then grinning, stopping, listening, whipping out camera phones, dancing, talking to strangers about how cool this was...drivers going by on Bloor, slowing down, rolling down windows, rubbernecking, honking, and driving away cheering. Cyclists pulling up, people running down the street to see if it really, really was happening like someone had said...

One of the drummers told me they'd rented the van for something else, then decided to do this at midnight last night, on a whim. They're playing a venue next week somewhere, and somewhere else the week after that. I do believe I may just go.

After the show, I asked if they had any openings for groupies.

Sometimes, I love this city so very, very much. Gorgeous, gorgeous night.

bombshellified

2009-05-02T04:00:00.003-04:00

My hair is now teh sex...or people wish it was, at least. I know it's 4 a.m. and that I live in an unusual neighbourhood and all, but 3 cars pulling over to await my approach in a 2-block span is a new record.

Richard did a great job, but he took off a lot. I trust him implicitly, and it's still long(ish), but I'm kinda afraid that once the straight blow-dry is overcome by the rampant curliness to follow, I'll end up looking like Einstein. On the bright side, pre-Raphaelite ringlets, here I come! I'm all about the romantical pre-Raphaelite thing.

Had a great night with Beth and Tim, talking, music-ing and philosophising. Using his patented sneak-attack camera approach, Tim managed to get a couple of pix of yours truly which even I think are kinda cute. Good job, man.

hair today, gone tomorrow...

2009-05-01T10:30:00.002-04:00

Execrable pun. I find myself quasi-unexpectedly hurtling towards a haircut. Hurtling.

Hair appointments usually unfold like this with me:
Self: Hmmm. I should get a haircut soon.
Self, 3 months later: Hmmm. I should get a haircut soon.
Self, 5 months later: Hmmm. I should get a haircut soon.
Self, 6 months later: Hi, Richard? I'm thinking I should come and see you sometime soon...
Self, 7 months later: Hey Richard--nice to see you. How many inches do we gotta hack off this time? (I should state here that Richard is very good, and would never do something so barbaric as "hack").

So this time, I finally got around to calling him yesterday after months of procrastination...and he called me back thismorningandI'mgoingtonightaieeeeeeeeee.

Haven't had time to mentally adjust to the idea. Must practice: Hi Richard--how's it going? Yeah, a lot's happened since I saw you last summer. So...how many inches do we gotta hack off this time...?

lyrics girl makes a discovery

2009-04-30T15:54:00.002-04:00

It's her own blood that's much too dangerous--not her love.

Sometimes we hear what we need to at the time.

srsly...there's a lot with which to have fun

2009-04-30T00:08:00.003-04:00

Feels like karmaaaaaaa...
This is what I was just doing in my living room...insofar as one can crowdsurf solo, that is. Clint Poppie, I am still in complete adoration of your bullhorn-nature, even 15 years later.
I've got to get me out to another festival sometime. Preferably overseas. And now that my adrenaline's kicked into high gear, time to hit the sack with a load of books and a bullhorn with which to gentle myself to sleep.

I was reading my old blog from 2001-2005 tonight, and was pretty impressed with some of my turns of phrase, if I do say so myself. Though I was also kinda sad to see some of the same questions about feeling blocked coming up over and over again. I've really, really gotta do something about that.

But it made me realise that I'd like to try and get back into posting little inanities, tale-telling about weird life-incidents (more snippets of conversation, encounters with random strangers, etc.). Which means I've gotta get out more.
srsly.

it's as funny as the devil...which is, frankly, pretty funny

2009-04-28T00:37:00.005-04:00

This post contains feathers. Right here.
The beginning begins.
No end in sight.
I'm terrified, exhilarated, and looking forward...with trepidation. Roller coaster indeed.

There is world enough, and time.

total 360!

2009-02-09T11:21:00.002-05:00

Snippet of conversation overheard between 2 co-workers:

"...if you could have seen him when he was 17 compared to now? --Total 360. He's turned his life around."

Heh--so far around, it would seem, that "he" is still up to his old tricks.

Does my language snobbery make me a bad person? At the very least, it's a source of amusement (when it's not making me bang my head against the keyboard...).

Marley and Robertson Davies

2009-01-05T09:29:00.003-05:00

I met a pug named Marley last week. He was a happy guy, with that fantastic, lolling, curly-edged tongue characteristic of his breed. As I scratched his chest, he leaned against me, looking skyward, tongue still lolling. I scratched his ears, and his tongue bobbed from side to side like a metronome.

It's time to really acknowledge and record all these little delights.

"Happiness is always a by-product. It is probably a matter of temperament, and for anything I know it may be glandular. But it is not something that can be demanded from life, and if you are not happy you had better stop worrying about it and see what treasures you can pluck from your own brand of unhappiness." - Robertson Davies

thief

2008-12-08T20:50:00.001-05:00

"old paperwork," it said.
a cardboard treasure chest.
I stole your poems to remember.

new space, new life

2008-12-02T13:30:00.002-05:00

Nearly moved in. Potential for impending new kitten. Soon move will be over, unpacking can conclude, new routines can be developed. Just hoping my heart will eventually catch up.

mental playlist

2008-11-22T00:53:00.003-05:00

Indulge me.

My Big Nurse - David Byrne & Brian Eno (track 2)
You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby - The Smiths
(...and I've just discovered that there's also a cover by the incomparable Kirsty MacColl)
Eden - Hooverphonic
I Love Myself Today - Bif Naked

My Big Nurse
When the lake's on fire
With all the world's desires
When he shakes the stars above
When we lose the ones we love

When the seasons lose their grip
When the tightrope walker slips

I'm counting all the possibilities

When the past becomes the now
When the lost becomes the found
When we fall in love with war
When the angel fucks the whore

When the road we travel on
Takes us back where we came from
A million kinds of possibilities
For dancing on this lazy afternoon

In the comfort of the world
In the arms of my big nurse
From the science of the heart
To each animal and plant

Compact, relaxed, intact - give thanks
I'm counting all the possibilities
For dancing on this lazy afternoon
***
You Just Haven't Earned It Yet, Baby
If you're wondering why
All the love that you long for eludes you
And people are rude and cruel to you
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why

You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
And I'm telling you now ...

If you're wondering why
When all I wanted from life was to be famous
I have tried for so long; it's all gone wrong
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why
But you wouldn't believe me

You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must suffer and cry for a longer time
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
And I'm telling you now ...
I'll tell you why
I'll tell you why

Today I am remembering the time
When they pulled me back
And held me down
And looked me in the eyes and said
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You just haven't earned it, my son
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
You must stay on your own for slightly longer
You just haven't earned it yet baby
And I'm telling you now ...

You just haven't earned it yet, baby
Oh ...
You just haven't earned it yet, baby
***
Eden
Did you ever think of me
As your best friend?

Did I ever think of you?
--I'm not complaining

I never tried to feel
I never tried to feel this vibration
I never tried to reach
I never tried to reach your Eden

Did I ever think of you
As my enemy?

Did you ever think of me?
--I'm complaining

I never tried to feel
I never tried to feel this vibration
I never tried to reach
I never tried to reach your Eden

I Love Myself Today
You left me like a broken doll
In pieces as I took the fall
For you, you dumb chump
You left me free-fallin' like space junk
Burnin' up in the atmosphere of life
Well I sound like a philosopher
But I'm a fool who's off her rocker
'Cause I let you in my heart that one last time
I've had enough, made up my mind
I'm gonna get up, and out, and wild

I love myself today
Not like yesterday
I'm cool, I'm calm, I'm gonna be okay, uh huh
I love myself today
Not like yesterday
Take another look at me now
'Cause it's your last look
Your last look forever.

Well look at you--
You're all puffed up
In a big red truck
But you're out of luck this time
Oh well that's tough
'Cause I'm on fire--too hot to touch
With a chatroom full of lovers
on the line
I'll stand right up
Spit-shine my soul
I'm gonna be proud and loud and outta control...

I'm looking the mirror
And I like what I see
I've lost the fear and the horror
That's been eatin' at me
'Cause bein' with you was like a hangman's noose
I was livin' my life in dead man's shoes
I've had enough, made up my mind
I'm gonna get up, and out, and wild

I love myself today
Not like yesterday
You're dead, and gone, I'm gonna get my way, uh huh
I love myself today
Not like yesterday
Take another look at me now
'Cause it's your last look
Your last look forever
I love myself today

bad dream...

2008-11-17T16:12:00.002-05:00

My new life feels completely unreal today, as though I'm going to wake up and things will be back to normal.

I guess it's one of the ways we cope with difficult information that's too big, too much, too overwhelming to take in.

It would obviously be unhealthy for things to go back to the way they were, but it's so hard to accept that it's just over--that he's gone, and that's it. Over three years of our lives, ground into shards under his retreating heels. Unsalvageable. No discussion, no negotiation, no chance to try. It's such a bitter pill to swallow that I don't think I've managed to choke it down yet. I keep staring at it in disbelief, thinking, "I have no choice?"

In the words of Yoda: "Do, or do not. There is no 'try'." There is no try.

Man, people going through breakups are boring. I'm bored with myself. It's only been a month, but I was hoping that I'd start to feel at least a little better. Instead, it's hitting hard all over again. Stupid merry-go-round of pain. Yoda, get me *off* this goddamn thing.

an observation

2008-11-16T22:04:00.003-05:00

I've never been a big watcher of t.v. or film. I've always fled from both, instead playing games on my computer.

Since Tom left, I haven't felt very much like doing that, and have been trying to get out, read, write, and do other things.

In the last two days, though, I've watched the whole first season of Sex and the City--two sittings, six episodes per sitting--and I've realised something: If a body does something like that every once in a while, or has a marathon viewing with friends, it can be fun. But if this becomes a habit, a way to fill days, get lost in a fantasy world and not think, then it's no different than endlessly playing on the computer, or drinking, or sleeping too much, or having sex too much with too many people.

I might have spent a lot of time over the last few years numbing out by playing endless casual games on pogo.com, or spending hours running missions in Guild Wars, but I now realise that I wasn't the only one trying not to think.

The revelations continue.

march or die

2008-11-13T18:56:00.003-05:00

I'm bemused that, from someone who's suffered from depression herself, my mother's parting words of counsel to me just before hanging up the phone were "march or die".

I really hope there are more choices than that, 'cos I can't hack marching right now.

why is the sky blue?

2008-11-08T21:36:00.003-05:00

Who is this woman?
--this bundle of grief and hope and childlike coffee?
Who is that little girl?
Where did she go astray?
Who is this rose in a coffee shop?
What is this bundle of veins and nerves and fatty tissue that constitutes her heart?
Why is it empty? Why is it full? What is it full of?
Shame. Anger. Hope. Love. Blood.
It's an automaton, this body.
Just keeps moving and squishing and forcing continuation.
Is it the body that endures, or the mind?
Or neither?
What endures? Pure love. Selfless love.
Does selfless love hurt? Or does it become further refined through adversity?
Can it be battered and dented, or does a blow glance off it, hitting and severing heartstrings and synapses?
Does it fossilise or crystalise? I think not. It just is.
My new refrain--it just is.

transit on the brain

2008-11-07T12:45:00.003-05:00

More questionable poetic musings. They're just spilling out at the moment, imperfect and trite as they are.

Stationary transfer
We entered and exited virtually every station together: I counted.
...King, Queen, Yonge, Coxwell, Broadview...
We stalled somewhere below ground--
lights out; no announcements.
You used an emergency exit.

By the time I got to Union, you'd already gone on,
the rumble of your train dying away down the tunnel
as I swayed numbly on the platform,
an invalid transfer crumpled in my hand.

I hate St. George

2008-11-06T22:27:00.002-05:00

I'd have liked him but for the dragon-slaying thing;
He always seemed so holy and noble.
Now he conjures up a Gordian knot:
I hear his name, I see your face.
I search the crowded platform--though I pretend not to--for you.

...and so it goes

2008-11-03T10:40:00.002-05:00

Doing a little better. Moving from grief alone to anger mixed in, and a terrified sense of adventure. Apartment-hunting. Contemplating packing. Growing ever-angrier at his cowardice, at being transformed into the unknowing receptacle of everything that's wrong in his life--frustrated creativity, father dying, mother failing, turning 40, being overweight, facing the void--how easy it is to simply run away, to change his environment, rather than do the adult thing and try to face what's in himself.

Everyone's been so generous in their kindness these last few weeks. People I don't know very well have responded when I've reached out, old friends are re-emerging, and I am deeply grateful.

pensing...

2008-10-18T17:11:00.002-04:00

Slowly finding my feet. This time, I'll take care of myself first. There is much unfinished. It hurts, it hurts, but I will find a way.

...maybe more like a bungee jump

2008-10-15T08:08:00.002-04:00

I'm probably still on the first downward plummet...or have I reached the nadir and been jerked back the other way, falling up?

It's amazing how I can go from feeling relatively fine, to having the sensation of ashes in my mouth, to screaming rage, to a void of grief. At least I'm trying to take better care of myself...if you count smoking too many cloves and not really eating as "taking better care". I'm culling--things I should have given to charity years ago. Five giant garbage bags and counting. At least a shelf's worth of big books. Some of them quite lovely. Maybe I'll give the storybooks to friends.

And all the while it still doesn't seem real. Finding notes from just weeks ago that say "I love you", thinking back to Friday night when he asked about where I thought we should store the air conditioner for the winter...I think that's seared itself into my brain as the emblem of how weird and and sudden and *wrong* this all is.

But I guess it wasn't sudden--not really. But it really was. Unhappiness, spells of feeling down--that's normal. But to think someone's down and so you give them space until they need to talk, as always, and then they become more and more withdrawn, and then you find out they've been mindfucking someone else? ...and can't even contemplate being with you at all because someone else is more "in synch" with them, and they have a lot in common? WTF????

I can't be out, I can't be at the apartment, I can't be in my own skin. I wonder if being able to float like a balloon would help...or would I just float away? Right now, I feel as though there's no firm ground to stand on.

rollercoaster

2008-10-14T23:34:00.002-04:00

You might have just barely managed to keep your cock in your pants, but your mind and your heart should've stayed in your pants too. Somehow, the more I think about it, the greater the violation it seems.

Stupid fucking "deep, meaningful" conversations that meant you "connected" with her--you should have been home, trying to connect with me. I had actually finally let myself trust that you really were in this for the long haul. And I fucking had to *ask* if you wanted to break up with me. The longer you stayed and playacted, instead of coming clean, the more nails went into the coffin. And not from my end. I don't fucking want this to happen. Moving out and into our own places I can handle, and I think it's a necessity. But totally gone? After nearly 4 years together and 3 years living together? Because you have "feelings" for someone you've been flirting and talking with more meaningfully for a few weeks? That's not a reason--it's a fucking excuse. You fucking spineless coward. You've left people before, with similar excuses about needing to find yourself and be alone, but *falling* for someone and sabotaging any chance of you being able to try? That's a first, and it's shameful that you're starting to need to find better excuses for ending things so you can carry on with this sad, lonely pattern.

But then maybe we've both been too depressed and sick for this to work. Stupid hindsight. Stupid asshole. I love you, and this dissolution seems so terribly wrong.

this is futile, but...

2008-10-13T18:47:00.002-04:00

...all I can do is pace this fast-crumbling floor and cry aloud: PLEASE COME BACK. Pleeeease come back. I know it isn't possible, and it won't happen, but I find myself like so many out there in the universe, vainly hoping that the pleas, the wanting will make it so.

My heart is clawing at my mind, keening and lost and childlike, unable to comprehend what my mind knows: that it's over. You've gone, and you're not coming back. Crying, wanting, and desperately, silently screaming "I'm sorry" for things not-done and things I couldn't be won't bring you home.

The only comfort that would help is yours, and I am alone.

heartbroken.

2008-10-12T00:12:00.001-04:00

sometimes people die; sometimes it's relationships.
no more to say than that.

appeal to a worker for the public good

2008-03-10T16:23:00.001-04:00

with apologies to Dylan Thomas

Do not fit neatly into that noble plight,
Civil servants should burn and rave in their cubicled way;
Rage, rage against the mindless service of what’s right.

Though wise plebeians often call upon their foresight,
Because their words are drained till dull and grey
They do not fit neatly into that noble plight.

Good minds, they dream and cry, lamenting the height
They might have attained in another way,
Rage, rage against the mindless service of what’s right.

Great leaps of thought, limned ’round with logic bright,
Might fail to make it in by end of day,
Do not fit neatly into that noble plight.

Clear minds, near lost, that can’t see true words from trite,
That’d otherwise command all there is to say,
Rage, rage against the mindless service of what’s right.

And you, pale servant, with th’aspect of a long-dead wight,
Curse, bless me now with your key messages, I pray.
Do not fit neatly into that noble plight.
Rage, rage against the mindless service of what’s right.

...are you there, dad? --it's you, Margaret!!

2008-02-06T02:28:00.000-05:00

(...with apologies to Judy Blume)

Mel tells me this little beauty was born on Jan 30th at the Chester Zoo in Merseyside, which is pretty much the same part of the world from which dad hailed. Heck, if you're gonna come back, you might as well be a giraffe, right?

obituary

2008-02-01T14:56:00.000-05:00

Thanks to everyone for their kindness - it means a lot to me and my family. Dad's obituary will run in the Saturday edition of the Toronto Star and the Globe and Mail, and in Sunday's Star as well.

McKenna, Robert Ivan (“Mac”)

October 4, 1942 - January 29, 2008. Died in hospital after a determined battle with cancer. He gave no quarter—it was taken from him with stunning rapidity by this cruel disease. As was his wish, he was at home almost to the end. Husband of Anne, father of Sosie and Addie, aka Sophia (Tom) and Alexander (Sue). Brother to Anita (Michael) Whelan, brother-in-law to Jennifer, Janet and John. Uncle to Rebecca, Dominic, Samantha, Jason, Josephine, Daniel and Thomas. Dear friend to Tony Barry, Findlay Sleigh, and Denis Clark. Deepest thanks to Robert’s dedicated team of naturopathic doctors, the staff at Sunnybrook, and the staff of the Temmy Latner Centre at Mount Sinai. Your exceptional care and compassion will never be forgotten. Funeral at the Carfrae Chapel, Mount Pleasant Cemetery, on Monday, February 4, 2008, 2 p.m. A wake to have a drink for Robert will be held in the near future (details tba). He loved roses. Donations can be made in Robert’s memory to the Robert Schad Naturopathic Clinic or the Department of Research and Clinical Epidemiology of the Canadian College of Naturopathic Medicine. www.ccnm.edu

so long, dad

2008-01-30T08:17:00.000-05:00

Robert Ivan McKenna - Actor, writer, and loads of other things
October 4, 1942 - January 29, 2008

I'm so very sorry, but am so glad you're not hurting anymore.

You made your own choices, stuck by what you wanted, called the shots, and fought with every ounce of strength you had. Dylan Thomas would've been proud. You did not go gentle, and you raged right through to the end.

I'll miss you.

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

fire in my head

2007-11-01T11:34:00.000-04:00

Tom Cowan’s book, Fire in the Head, explores the independently-developed similarities in shamanic tradition across the globe. I read it a number of years ago, but elements of it are ingrained in my mind.

In many cultures, when someone is “called” to be a shaman, when they develop that fire in the head, they often fall ill. If they resist, if they do not heed this call within a period of time, they die.

In a parallel universe, I’m in a job interview right. this. second. Here and now, I’m not in that interview, and am feeling okay about it. I withdrew last night.

When I was 18, I made choices out of fear, and changed the entire course of my life with one sheet of paper. With one word. Instead of writing “English” on my blanket university application, I wrote “geography”, because I was afraid of a life of poverty—of literal death. As the daughter of a writer consumed by his craft, by the fire in his head, I lived in straitened circumstances, and I was terrified of that same poverty following me into my own adult life.

It was years before I realised that I’d traded one type of impoverishment for another. That single word was my attempt to smother the fire in my own head. I too had been called, and had refused to heed the summons. I was too young to realise the imperative nature of the call. I thought it could be turned off.

And so I find myself today with a fantastic salary, but no sense of comfort or security. I’m poor all the same. Impoverished, and burning up from the fire in my head. It’s true: ignoring the summons does lead to illness. I’ve spent years forcibly trying to separate myself from my nature, and now realise that it’s as cruel and horrifying a pursuit as physically trying to peel my skin from my flesh.

It’s time. It’s time to feed the flames, to stoke the fire, and to start, rather than waiting for my life to start for me. I’ve often expressed that I don’t know who I am, what I think, or what I like; last week, someone told me they think that, deep down, I do know, but that I have trouble reconciling this with my uncertainty as to whether I’ll be acceptable to others. I instantly knew this was true.

I don’t know what this will look like—or what I will look like for that matter, other than messy, filthy, and betimes bloody—but at least I’ll be wearing my own skin.

No more smoke signals, if I can help it. It’s time to let the fire burn true.

evener keel

2007-09-06T09:57:00.000-04:00

That'd be a great name for a character in a novel, wouldn't it?

Today's a great example of medicine's effectiveness. I'm ready to fight crime...or at least get on with it. :)

I wish I had some telepathic way of doing stuff at home when I'm not there. I'm feeling inspired to sort stuff out, but by the time I return, the powerful tractor beam emitted by my computer will probably override the finest of intentions. At least I'm a Slayer of Giants in the electronic realm...

...and some levity

2007-09-05T22:05:00.000-04:00

To counterbalance that last post, I offer the following, courtesy of Cristina:

articulating...

2007-09-05T21:36:00.000-04:00

Even though I love playing with words, sometimes they fail me. It's impossible to capture certain thoughts or mind-states without penning an essay. That's where folks like the Inspiral Carpets come in. Oh look - they have a new album for the first time in over 10 years... Lately, watching myself and how I move through the world, I feel like Plutoman. Self-inflicted, self-caused, self-limiting, and somewhat schizoid or schizotypal.

Colours and music is what you will see and you live for
Take a ride with a stingray and you'll see the world through his eyes...

...You know what they say about the lady who talks with the fishes:
They say that she'll always have at least a billion billion friends
And somewhere there's a god who will grant each and all of her wishes
She laughs in the face of the man looking over the fence

I can see that you're dreaming
But I can't see the pictures
Sleeping in the light of
Starshine and goldfishes

Even out here where he sits drowning in isolation
He's stacking his bricks high and slowly walling out the world
She's sending him flowers and sunshine but he doesn't notice
On the stem of a rose she writes, "Have A Nice Day, Plutoman."

I can see that you're dreaming
But I can't see the pictures
Sleeping in the light of
Starshine and goldfishes

He feels like he's the last man alive, he feels like he's stuck on Pluto
Each day's a bad one, each day he's all alone

Colours and music is what you will see and you live for
Take a ride with a stingray and you'll see the world through his eyes
She's sending him flowers and sunshine but he doesn't notice
On the stem of a rose she writes, "Have A Nice Day, Plutoman."

squeeeeeeeeee...

2007-08-23T22:49:00.000-04:00

...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

*rushes out to buy milk and comestibles so she won't starve whilst glued to her computer for several days straight*

I fought the pole...and the pole won

2007-08-21T10:16:00.000-04:00

So my friend Vivienne (co-creatrix of the TTC Knitalong), has just been certified as a pole dance instructor. Who knew?

Jacquie and I checked out one of her introductory classes last night, and it was pretty fantastic. Where else do you get to pose like a pinup girl in the midst of yoga-poses??

Today my arms feel like rubber, thanks to my spectacular level of sluglike unfitness. Typing and putting on shirts has become a fascinating experience.

Whilst reflecting this morning on my attempts at the classic fireman spin, I realised that I've spent so much of my life in my head - in a state of hyper-vigilance - that there's a powerful disconnect between my mind and my body. I operate on a purely primitive, instinctual level when it comes to physical movement. Any calculated movement involving non-finger-related artifice is difficult for me to control.

When I was flinging myself around the pole, the act of doing so almost obliterated my awareness of the different parts of my body so that it was pretty much impossible for me to consider adjustments in the position of my feet, grip, etc.. I think this struck me after watching Jacquie spiral gracefully around the pole after a few tries, then hearing Vivienne suggest an adjustment in the position of her knees...which she did without a second thought.

Makes me think. Guess I need to work on reconnecting.

P.S. The Boots

I CAN HAS GIANT-ARSE MONITR!!

2007-08-19T01:35:00.000-04:00

lolz - oh hai!

i m riting wile luking @ a wide 20" flatscrn mi b/f got 4 mi brthdai - rily erli

My brain's gonna explode. So...much...surface - it burns my eyes!

Kinda like my new DMs, which are...how you say in my language?...white.

Yup.

But don't get all freaked out, now: they've got a really cool branchy pattern on them and a lovely, delicate, death's-head moth. Just in time for tomorrow's Mad Hatter tea at AlterKnit. Not so out-of-the-ordinary after all.

It isn't them!!

2007-08-11T13:31:00.000-04:00

Thank heckins! Someone finally got back to me, and Nu and Po are safe at home, being "charming and ornery" (you can guess who's being what). I can't help but wonder, though, if Princess is related to Niamh...

doppelganger shock

2007-08-10T19:01:00.000-04:00

These are my babies: Niamh (white) and Freya (tabby). Freya showed up on the porch one day, and Niamh was found at the Humane Society, sporting the stereotypical name Princess. We soon fixed that. They're now seven years old, and I haven't seen them for two and a half years, as they live with my former husband, M. I miss them terribly.

I will eventually be in the market for new furchildren, and I occasionally visit the Toronto Humane Society website to see who needs a home. Today a nasty, killing-voltage-level, electric shock ran through me:

The society estimates they're about eight years old. The one on the left is named Princess. The one on the right is listed as Gabby. I have been frantically trying to find out more about them, to absolutely ensure they're not Niamh and Freya, but the society won't give out background info on animals over the phone.

They can't be Nuni and Po. They just can't. And yet my guts are twisting. I'm so frightened. Mel offered the sage, calm opinion that it isn't them, but it's such a freaky coincidence. Niamh's electronic pet chip still lists her as Princess. They're seven. Too close to be calm. Too close. The only things keeping me even remotely okay are that Princess' beauty spot is on the opposite side of her nose -- but what if the photo's reversed?? -- and that I can't imagine M surrendering the cats and not coming to me first. That just isn't like him. At all.

But I can't get ahold of anyone who can 100% confirm for me that Niamh and Freya are indeed still in residence at my old home. M is on vacation, and our housemate, who was in a meeting at work when I called, hasn't called back, despite my urgent message.

So I'm vacillating between calm, terror, and grief.

The only way I'll know for sure is if I go down and see them. But I can't do that. I just can't. Going there would kill me. Mum and dad could take them if it really was them, so that's sorted. But I cannot have a new pet right now, and going down there, being amongst so many friends in need of homes...I can't.

The things we put ourselves through, eh?

the fates are kind...

2007-08-03T21:26:00.000-04:00

The phone rang before 8:00 this morning. It was someone from the coffee shop: they'd found my mp3 player sitting in plain sight, in the middle of the counter. Hmmm. And hooray!

In other, random news:

I finished a knitted, open-front cardigan-thing. Yup -- I finished something!

I have a Tamagotchi, which has just headed off into the electronic ether after breeding with a small ninja, leaving me to raise her offspring. Wow - second generation!

I'm returning to work on August 13th, starting slowly and ramping up to full time over the course of six weeks.

When I went out for a walk tonight, the quality of the light through the trees was exactly as depicted in one of my favourite paintings, not-coincidentally titled Empire of Light. I was lucky enough to see Magritte's original when I visited the Guggenheim in Venice; electronic representations just don't do it justice.

I'm totally digging Amy Winehouse's latest album, Back to Black.

It's stinky-hot here.

And lalala.

crap, buggery, arse, and other strong words of displeasure

2007-08-02T14:57:00.000-04:00

Some fuckwit stole my mp3 player out of my bag whilst I was at the coffee shop.

The only grim satisfaction I have is that since it isn't an iPod, it'll be bloody hard, if not impossible, for them to get any use out of it without the special charger and computer hookup.

Blast, damn and hellfire.

teafinder

2007-07-04T12:36:00.000-04:00

Y'know how, when your cordless phone is misplaced, you can hit the page button and it'll beep & reveal its whereabouts? Or if your cell is missing, you can call it and follow the ring (assuming you haven't turned off the ringer)?

I regularly find myself thinking - for split-second, irrational moments - that I'll page my missing tea, which I've put down somewhere then wandered off. Then I realise that I can't page my tea.

And then I think - for longer, slightly-more-rational, petulant moments - that, dang it, I should be able to page my tea...and my glasses...and my wallet...and my rings...and my knitting needles...&c.

Heyyyyy - maybe if I fasten my cell phone to my tea mug...

insert some saying about agony and good stuff here

2007-06-29T14:07:00.001-04:00

Agony. Defeat. De feet. Ecstasy.

First, the agony:
I finished the first inside-out sock from the STR club. It's gorgeous. My first attempt at toe-up (I tried on the foot before starting on the leg, and it fits perfectly), the cables are divine, and it's a work of stunning beauty, if I do say so myself.

"So, Soph," you're saying, "where's the agony in this? Sounds pretty good to me!"

Dear readers, those gorgeous cables are too tight. I can't fit them over my heel. I have to rip out the leg and re-knit. Hours and hours of work for nought. I don't mind that so much; what I do mind is that I finished the dang thing, and can't try it on!! I wanna!! lol

Now that that's out of the way, on to the good stuff:

I've been doing a lot of self-work, lately, and decided to do something symbolic to reflect this. I'm a talker, as those that have met me know, but it's often superficial waggishness; I often have difficulty articulating what I want and need - even to myself. Since the colour of the throat chakra (which governs communication) is blue, and since in dreams and archetypal imagery the ocean represents the unconscious, I decided to make a blue and turquoise necklace - to hang around my throat - that represented my reclamation of my voice.

I haven't done any beading in a long time, and have (had) never made a necklace. Over the last week, I made a few forays, adventures, and pilgrimages to various bead shops and picked up a variety of things to supplement the materials I already had. When I examined my modest stash, it turns out I've been collecting for this necklace for years without realising it.

And so, verily, it was strung and worn by me.

And each full day I've worn it, someone's inquired as to whether I sell them. My editorial grammar instructor has commissioned one.
I'm all aflutter.

music for my paranormal life

2007-06-18T15:13:00.000-04:00

...with apologies to Neuroticfish for the paraphrased rip-off of one of his song titles.

All I can say is (to quote Jacquie): OMGWTFBBQ!!!!

I was wandering through the local HMV about half an hour ago, and heard the Smiths...well, a cover of the Smiths. An absolutely brilliant cover of Stop Me. I had to ask, and was pointed to a listening post, where lounged (insouciantly, no less), an album entitled Version, by one Mark Ronson, who I have discovered is some hotshot London dj.

With the help of folks such as Robbie Williams, Kasabian, etc., he's recorded covers of songs by a plethora of artists, including the aforementioned Smiths, Britney Spears, Radiohead, the Charlatans, etc.

Brilliant. Abso-brilliant. Fucking weird, but brilliant. Not everyone is as jazzed about it, but it's amusing the biscuits out of me.

the newest knitter

2007-06-14T14:16:00.000-04:00

Last night, I got to meet Natalie, who was only four days old, and born on her mum's birthday. Congratulations, Heather! Happy birthday to both of you!
Natalie has the most incredible feet - with the longest toes - I've ever seen on any baby. Perhaps she'll use them to hold her knitting needles...

Knitalong sneak preview

2007-06-11T16:35:00.001-04:00

More to come soon, but for now, this is my thousand words. Sandi, you are an absolute delight.

Tea Swap - Thanks Dorene!

2007-06-11T16:14:00.000-04:00

Dorene sent me a little bit of Southern hospitality from her holiday home in South Carolina. We have virtually identical tastes - both in teas and in colours - so the treats I got were absolutely perfect!
Here we have: loose Darjeeling from the mighty Republic of Tea (love their stuff!), a little candle in a warm-drinky-themed box, some Southern Raspberry Mix, which Tom has already busted into and pronounced perfect in Diet Coke, Nana's Been-a-Nut Bread, and some Indian Breakfast tea, which is a lovely, punchy black blend that me loves. I'll have to see if I can get this again.

I particularly like the recipe on the nut bread bag. An excerpt: Git ya muffin pans out an greez 'em up real good. Set dis aside jus a minute.

Har.

And then there's the yarn - Cherry Tree Hill supersock in a fabbo colourway called Misty Moor.

Thanks so much, Dorene! You did a super job on your first swap - good on ya'!

various gallivanty, frolicky stuff

2007-06-05T11:40:00.001-04:00

...must...take...photos!

I've finished some things (a vest and more armwarmers), and started some things (multi-yarn knittery knittishness, the first STR sock club pattern, seaming up the first of the sideways socks).

The Knitalong is this weekend! Hooray!

And today I'm having a tiny knitalong with Jacquie, including stops at Lettuce and Dangerous Romni, the Aladdin's cave of yarn. *stuffs wallet into cheek so she can't pull it out*

knitting it together

2007-05-26T15:44:00.000-04:00

Jane Thornley is in town for the weekend. Mum and I are taking two classes with her at Lettuce Knit. Jane's all about organic knitting, and knitting within a chosen colour palette (aka 'colour story') using yarns of different weights and textures. For a person with a generally gnat-sized attention span, changing up all these colours, weights and stitches feels like being in an oasis.

I'm trying to incorporate different weights and textures into my personal story as well. I think of you all every day, all the time. I'm so glad you're out there, and I apologise that I can be difficult to know, or that my experiences can be difficult to take in. Please bear with me, if you can - I'm determined to bring this black dog to heel, and get back to life.

x

hellohellohellohello!

2007-05-22T23:04:00.000-04:00

Hello! Hello! I'm here!

A bit tattered around the edges and pretty much all awol, all the time at the moment, but I am alive! I have pictures of various green things to post, including my kingdom and some fiddleheads I had for dinner the other night, and a picture of Kelly to prove that she made it up here from Florida and is in one piece.

So many pictures, so many stories. All trapped in my head, along with the rest of me...

*goes off to fight crime*

the plot thickens...

2007-05-11T15:52:00.000-04:00

Perhaps I'm obsessing about this. Perhaps just a little. As with all humans, I'm prone to some subjective interpretation of the facts, but I think there's at least a kernel of truth in here.

What I originally did at work:

co-ordinated projects across offices, branches, divisions
attended a fair number of out-of-office meetings with a variety of people/organisations on collaborative projects
was at the centre of what was going on in my area of specialty
researched, wrote reports, developed and gave presentations, briefings, etc.

What I now do at work (same job as before):

policy research, mainly at my desk
managing (I use the term loosely) projects in subject areas with which I have less familiarity and confidence, which could be good, except I'm afraid, just can't get started and am not capable at this time of setting up my own structure
watch the things I feel I could do - and do well - get handed off to other people because there's a fear I'll a) not get them done b) get distracted from the rest of my work -- which I'm not cut out for and am unhappy doing

I know it all starts with me, and everything, but the more bored, powerless and isolated I feel, the less motivated I am, the more likely it is that my interesting work will be handed off to others, and the more likely it is that I'll feel progressively more bored, isolated and unmotivated.

Now for the kicker, check this out:

My learning style and appropriate learning activities, according to the public service's online "learning wizard":

PRACTICAL LEARNING STYLE: Your preferred learning style is to act on your ideas. Once you understand the situation, you confront a challenge with your hands on real time. You enjoy getting involved in new experiences. You get immersed in situations and tend to look for new challenges as you may prefer the excitement of new experiences over implementation.

Beneficial Learning Activities
If your dominant and preferred learning style is acting on your ideas, you will BENEFIT MOST where:

You have opportunities to understand and immerse yourself in a situation
New experiences and opportunities for learning are provided
Real challenges and excitement are ahead of you
You get involved with other people and influence them through action
You can act on and implement your ideas
You can engage in projects and group discussions

Less Beneficial Learning Activities
If your dominant and preferred learning style is acting on your ideas, you will BENEFIT LESS where:

You are not given the opportunity to think through a problem
You cannot immerse yourself in the situation
You are asked to take a passive role
Your primary role is to analyze and interpret data
You are asked to do repetitive activities
You are engaged in passive learning such as lectures

my version of productivity at work

2007-05-09T09:30:00.000-04:00

A poem. Written yesterday in under 10 minutes whilst trying to re-organise my team's common drive on our server.

Where do I go when I'm not here?
My head is like a balloon, I fear:
Drifting aloft on the vaguest of thoughts,
Slipping the weights of 'shoulds' and 'oughts'
Nothing gets done; not a thing is achieved,
And when the day ends, I hightail it, relieved,
But the list of to-dos is a myriad miles
And I find myself drowning 'midst papers and files
Fighting 'gainst waves of guilt, fear and stress;
When I try to do more, I end up doing less.
Where do I go when my mind wanders free?
Nobody knows - alas, not even me.

nononononononoooooh look! a squirrel!

2007-05-08T18:43:00.000-04:00

Well that explains a lot of things.

I haven't been formally diagnosed, but after some research and self-testing today, I think I have ADHD.

I don't know whether to be discouraged, or relieved.

I think the only correct response is to laugh.

If I can just remember, it'll be okay.

2007-04-27T11:14:00.000-04:00

Awake aware alone
Lost and far from home
I walk without these walls
So there is less to fall

I am naked
I have nothing left
My bones are picked clean
And riddled with regrets
Nothing can touch me
I've nothing left to take
For I am naked
But I can never break

Bombarded by brutal events
Like the rays of a sun
Knocked to my knees
By the waves that continued to come
Each time I rise to my feet
I am knocked to the ground
But I am an element
Nothing can break me down

Link after link in a chain
Pulling hard at my limbs
The search party's lost now
The outlook is growing dim
Praying for wisdom
There's nobody left to impart
But I am an atom
And nothing can take me apart

I am naked
I have nothing left
My bones are picked clean
And riddled with regrets
Nothing can touch me
I've nothing left to take
For I am naked
But I can never break

Naked, by Assemblage 23, from the album Failure

Over the Moon

2007-04-22T00:00:00.000-04:00

When I departed from England, Jason gave me a set of art cards featuring some of Andy Goldsworthy's winter work.

Because they remind me of my wonderful visit and of my kindred-spirit-cousin - and because they're so beautiful - I decided they needed special treatment. I picked them up today, and I couldn't be more pleased. Tom and I put them up this afternoon, and I have no words to express the pleasure and delight these bring.

Thanks, Jase
x

In the morning, I walked 10K. In the afternoon, I wrestled a lion.

2007-04-15T18:31:00.000-04:00

The day started with the Stone Roses. "This is for you, Dan," I said aloud, as I strode off to catch the bus to the MS Walk checkpoint.Well, not really. The day started more like this:

Alarm. Hit snooze. Alarm. Hit snooze. Alarm. Hit snooze. Alarm. Hit snooze. Alarm. Dark. Fumblestumblefindclothes. Search through piles on top of dresser. Aha! Toss. Thump. Aha! Toss. Thump. Aha! Toss. Thump. "Sophe - you okay?" Sleepy mumble. "Yup, love, I'm fine." "Oh, well you were tossing clothes on the bed..." Hmmm. Sports bra. T-shirt. Thermo-soft-red-sporty-top. Thermals. Workout leggings. Looksfunnywiththermals. Other leggings. Zippy black sweater-thing. Rain gear. Socklets. Insanelywhitetrainers. Giant 1-L thermos of teathanksTom.

The day continued with the Stone Roses.

I knew I'd found the checkpoint when I heard the Ozzy Osbourne. Really. 8:30 a.m. Freezing. Zero degrees C (about 30 F). Freezearsefreezearsefreezearsefreezearse. Found Lynn. Opening ceremonies with much talk of freezing weather. FreezefreezefreezeANDTHEY'REOFF!

Trudgetrudgetrudgeinagiantherdofpeopleandexciteddogswearingt-shirts(yesthedogs). The first checkpoint came inhumanly, unreally soon. Then we were halfway and turned for the walk back. Achy calves. Hmmm...not so cold. A cheering crowd to celebrate our return. Free hot dogs and Loblaws PC choccy chip cookies. Hmmm...it actually is still freaking cold. We were obviously delusional (though I prefer to think of it as warm from the walk).

10 K! We walked 10 K! It wasn't so bad, but it sure sounds impressive. Took under an hour and a half. Small price for the incredibly generous $1200 or so donated by so many lovely people. Thank you all!

Lynn, sporting a fine hand-knit hat and scarf:Yours truly, suffering delusions of warmth at the halfway mark.The afternoon was spent in fine company at AlterKnit.

Knitting Royalty [har har] (TitBitBeryl and AmyKnitty, who will just love this photo...):

Crazy friends that make me laugh (Sandi, Jacquie, Jen, and Mel). Lucky, lucky me!

Hang the DJ...and a finished object

2007-04-13T21:58:00.000-04:00

'Hang the DJ' sounded more interesting than 'Panic'.

I'm completely squirrelly at the moment. Not sure what's wrong - I'm agitated, and had a panic attack at work today. I fled. Took more antidepressants than usual and plied myself with tea. It sort of helped, but I spent the day pacing the apartment and feeling freezing cold. Weird.

In more delightful news, I finished something! They're for a lovely someone far away. Fetching, from Knitty, knitted in RYC Silk Wool in Greenwood.

Am spending the evening trying to sit still long enough to teach myself to crochet. So far, so good...

See Spot Run...See Soho Dance

2007-04-03T23:04:00.000-04:00

Today was a bitch of a day at work. It started off with 14 sneezes, followed by an e-mail in caps to Tom about how I wanted to walk out but would not, and included much mental swearing and not nearly enough presence of mind to zot furiously with my Lego Ring of Power (tm).

And then Tom reminded me that tonight we were going to a showcase of film shorts by our friends at Haberdash Films (I recommend that you check out 'Jedi Breakfast' should you follow the link). I absolutely did not feel like going; all my mental drawers were full (shorts...drawers...?), and I was whipped-exhausted.

I knew it was important to Tom and to our friends - particularly given the nasty-rainy weather and the hockey game, both of which would act as deterrents to many, we suspected - so I made an extra effort to overcome my habitual inclination to hibernate.

The shorts were good fun. I'd seen a number of them, but many bear repeat watchings.

And afterwards...oh, afterwards...we were treated to a performance by See Spot Run. I knew of them, as they've had some radio play with a couple of singles over the past few years, but had never seen them before - didn't even know what they looked like. They're friends of Brad and the Haberdash guys, so it seemed natural that they'd play at the screening. It's such a different experience seeing a band live versus recorded material. On the radio, they sound so nice and alternative and poppy and clean, somehow, but in concert, they're absolutely knockout-mad, with loads of guitar and bizarre hopping, leaping and bouncing. Far superior, I think, and a much truer picture of their talent and style.

There were about 20 people in the audience. Chris, the lead singer, indicated a few times that we shouldn't be afraid to dance. After a few songs, I thought, "fuck it!" - and up I went. Just me. Only me. Who hasn't been out dancing in a year and a half. Hahahahahahahahahaha! I can now say that I was the solo dancer at a See Spot Run show, and am full of something akin to glee.

I was particularly fond of a song entitled My iPod Killed My Girlfriend, which was entirely delightful and called to mind the Ramones' The KKK Took My Baby Away. Perma-grin during that one.

And the encore. Silliest for last: from Stompin' Tom Connors' The Good Old Hockey Game into Back in Black by AC/DC. Now that was a stunner all by itself.

I'll definitely see them again - they played a tight set, were obviously having fun, and seemed nice to boot...even though I totally put my foot in my mouth and called their song Weightless 'Shameless' by mistake (obviously channelling my unconscious, there...). Right - breast cancer research benefit show on Apr 29th at Clinton's it is!

A fine end to the day. I'm now ricocheting off the walls and in no mood for bed. So I will (once again) curse my fine cousin Jason and play pogopogopogopogo.

screams...

2007-04-02T18:56:00.000-04:00

...like a delighted bansidhe.

AIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

The Zodiac of the Awesome

2007-03-31T16:09:00.000-04:00

My friends Amberspyglass and Red Magpie are GENIUSES.

GENIUSES, I TELL YOU!!!

This is entirely their own work, including the symbols.

So tell me -- what's your sign?

my head is full

2007-03-24T22:45:00.000-04:00

My head feels like a helium balloon. So much in it...which sounds funny when you're talking about a balloon. I suppose it feels as though it could float away; I need to tie it to something.

I feel as though I'm becoming more myself, which is rather exciting, but I don't yet know what it means.

I've accepted that I don't fit at work. I just don't. I'm too different, too creative, and deliciously non-corporate. I acknowledged to myself a few weeks ago that I just don't have what they're looking for. Today I realised, with a rocket-boost of self-confidence, that they just don't have what I'm looking for.

Mum and I went to The Guild Shop, which sells works by Canadian artists, to view a fibre arts exhibition. It was quite exciting to realise that I could create some of these same things myself. Inspiring. And whilst there I decided, in a fit of grown-upness, to invest in a new ring. I wear one on nearly every finger, and most of them are cast silver. So I figured I'd get an investment piece, of a sort, which made me feel quite la-la and sophisticated.

Of course, being me, I ended up attracted to something so spectacular, so subtly subversive, that it didn't matter a whit that it wasn't anywhere close to what my frontal lobe had in mind. I give you my precious. It's the lime green one (second pic down on the left-hand side), which I'm quite sure would look right at home with my old space station set. Do you see? Do you see? That ain't no product of millennia in that setting. I'll give you a hint.

I'm feeling calmer. Still lots of self-work to do, but I'm starting to feel as though everything will be all right. I'm contemplating something that I always shied away from - slowly, slowly, going freelance. I can't ignore the pull any longer. Hiding behind sensible things like geography and urban planning hasn't worked. So we shall see.

For now, I'll keep this new ring close at hand (har har) as a reminder. It'll be my talisman in times of public service drudgery, self-doubt, and sanity-questioning. I'll just point it at the offending individual, or at my temple if I need a boost, and whisper: zot.

So I guess I'm actually committed now, huh?

2007-03-11T13:44:00.000-04:00

Dan, you've got a lot to answer for, mate. I mean -- white trainers???

All kitted out and overexposed:

Lorena’s Impending Mayhem

2007-03-10T17:51:00.000-05:00

Finally, finally, finally, Ms. Snark's package is ready to mail. I'm hoping it'll be worth the madman-wandering-endlessly-in-the-desert-length wait.

Because I enjoy being evil on the odd occasion, I thought I'd summarise the parcel's contents in the form of obscure hints. Many will make no sense, but it's a great way to up the anticipation. Ready?

1. Because everyone needs a stress monkey.
2. It's almost St. Patrick's day, and what's more green than a sticky turtle?
3. It's my favourite, and perfect for armwarmers.
4. Sometimes, breakfast should be worn rather than eaten.
5. Señor, I don't think being polite will make a difference to them.
6. Even though you already have some, one can always use more of this.
7. Sometimes, the first cup just isn't enough.
8. The sap's about to start running, but there's actually stuff out there that's tastier than syrup.
9. She helped the Canadian troops by running through the night back in 18-something-or-other, but she's best known for more decadent pursuits.
10. Feverish Celts might twist their ankles.
11. Through his eyes, you see the soul-map of the city.
12. Hurrah! In minus degrees, modern women will delight in coolness of trendy phrasing.
13. Because everyone should have the experience of building their very own cottage.
14. Till knit do us part.

I think that's everything...
*insert sinister laugh here*

Revelling in the Snarkitude

2007-03-09T09:18:00.000-05:00

I have become one with my Snark-nature. In a spirit of dreadful delinquency, I hadn't photo'd and posted the Snarkdora's Box that was waiting for me when I returned from the land of bluetits and drystone walls. It is past time. Behold:

Here we have, clockwise from top left, some lovely, scented lotion, 2 discs of mp3s (Lorena's Mangled Heart and Lorena's Crazy Life) - stellar! - some local honey (mmmmm), a lovely card that I will frame, some handspun that I remember mentally admiring on her blog when it was being spun (can't wait to play with it!!!), a collection of wildlife stitch markers, which I will have to re-photo so you can appreciate them - there's a bear, a skunk, a squirrel, and a cardinal - some Mountain Colors Bearfoot sock yarn in the 'Indian Corn' colourway (hooray! hooray! I get to try it! eeee), some lovely chocolate that has since been eaten, and two teas.

Snark, thanks so much for this wonderful package, you stellar human being, you. Your generosity knows no bounds, and I only hope that the odd collection of toys I have for you will make up for my distracto-nature over the last month or so! Thankyouthankyouthankyou for the hours of pleasure (yarn porn) and the delightful anticipation.

A close-up of Lorena's fine work:

furious

2007-03-08T19:56:00.000-05:00

I don't wish to go into great detail, but a family member has really let me down. If you're unable, uncomfortable, or unwilling, fine. Fine. No problem. But don't keep harping on it, rationalising and justifying and excusing. Enough. Let it go.

Since you didn't/couldn't/wouldn't, I hung up.

I'm getting off me' arse and doing something productive!

2007-03-05T20:06:00.000-05:00

I'm participating in the MS Society of Canada's Super Cities Walk on April 15th to raise money for MS research. Ten whole K. Ack.

I'm doing so in honour of my incredible cousin Daniel, whose life was just way too short.

If you'd care to pledge my madwomanly efforts, you can do so at my personal fundraising page on the MS website.

Positive 'Goooooooooooooo Soho!' thoughts on April 15th are also welcome. :)

Props to Suga

2007-03-03T09:17:00.000-05:00

Ever heard a soundtrack to a movie that doesn't exist? It's about time you did.

The first time I heard this - complete with scene excerpts - I actually asked what movie it was from, 'cos it sounded so blaxploimazing I just had to see it. And Sean explained the project he and Jamillah have undertaken: to write a soundtrack based on a non-existent movie.

And so I give you Suga's Last Stand.

(check out Suga's Last Stand and Unglued)

spaz!spaz!spaz!

2007-02-28T15:47:00.000-05:00

Okay; it's peel-me-off-the-ceiling time. I'm jetlagged and buzzing on caffeine and all sorts. Not quite sure what to do with myself at the moment, other than take a page out of my 3-y-o second cousin Freddie's book and race around the room, climbing the walls, before collapsing in a limp heap.

Just got in from the airport after a roller-coaster of a week on home soil. Joy. Pathos. Rock and roll. I lost my cousin Daniel, but he gave me back my cousin Jason, whom I haven't seen in 30 years. I never thought I'd next be returning to England for a funeral - let alone for the funeral of my creative, cheeky, observant, gentle, playful cousin Dan, who died way, way too young (I shake my fist at the heavens and feel a prickle behind my nose) - but I also never thought I'd have such an incredible experience of reconnecting with all my cousins, aunts, uncles and extended family...and particularly the stellar Arctic Fox, who opened his home to me and turned out to not only be a wonderful host, but a kindred spirit.

When I'm feeling more grounded I may touch upon the experience of saying goodbye to Dan, but for now, I just want to roar with delight and gratitude for the opportunities and adventures I've had over the last week: laughing and tale-telling with Jo, Tom, Sam and Jase, meeting Tom's Natalie, Jo's Ian and their small person Oskar (a new second cousin!), spending a too-short time with Sam's Rob and meeting their small people Freddie and Milo (two more new second cousins!) and meeting Jason's Dawn, who's just lovely: her face -- no, she lights up when she smiles; having a too-brief time with Aunty Janet and Uncle David; visiting with Jen & Fred and sitting under Missy, Dibble, Grub and Cuthbert (sometimes all at once), whose cat-hairs have now travelled farther than they themselves ever will; visiting the Mother Ship (aka Rowan Yarns' head offices) thanks to Jen's kind arrangements; curry-eating with Jason and Dawn; robin-blue tit-dunnock-finch-blackbird-rat-watching from Jason's kitchen window; talking for hours about life and perspective, playing Guitar Hero and making late-night shop runs for teabags with Jason; almost-winning at the bingo/quiz night at Sam's lawn bowling club with Sam and Jen; treading the streets of Leeds once again (also with Jason); listening to various weirdnesses on Radio 4; experiencing virtually the entire first season of League of Gentlemen in one sitting (are you LOCAL?); collecting newly-laid hen's eggs for the first time; discovering Andy Goldsworthy and Frank Sidebottom ('it's a free download/costin' absolutely nothing...'); and countless more things besides.

More tea, Mrs. Nesbiiiit?
Jiggety jig.

Daniel Edward Pitchforth, age 33

2007-02-12T18:31:00.000-05:00

My cousin died today. He was only 33, and he hasn't been well for quite a few years, but I had no idea he was so ill. I found out only minutes ago, and the shock is setting in. This is devastating. But it's no way to introduce him to you.

Dan was one of the kindest, loveliest people I've ever known. Out of all the cousins, we were the closest in age, and used to write to one another about life, music, and whatever else was going on. He introduced me to the Stone Roses and the Inspiral Carpets. I last saw him in 1997, and we slid all the way down the hill beneath the giant chalk horse on the hillside at Uffington. Sounds basic, but the hill was a ridiculous incline, and it takes a couple of minutes to slide down after spending half an hour or so climbing up to the horse. We had to boil-wash our jeans to get the grass stains out. When we were 3 and 4, we went to the park near grandma's house in Huddersfield. There were men working on the road, and Daniel put his finger in the hot tar they'd laid down, which of course made him cry. I remember looking at the tar on his finger. The tar had a particular smell that was somehow different from the usual tar-smell; I only ever smell that exact scent every once in a while, and I always think of Dan.

I was thinking of him today, actually, and imagining how great it would be to see him and all the rest of my cousins and family, little realising the sadness unfolding thousands of miles away.

Sorry I missed you, Dan. Love and ham sandwiches, as always. x

awright, awright, awright - here's a post

2007-01-01T16:11:00.000-05:00

Sorry folks - been Guildwars'ing and have also been feeling reclusive. I go through phases where I just don't seem to have the energy or inclination to keep up with this stuff. So people are looking for peculiarities, hmmm? Here are a bunch. I'm doubling the number, since most of the folks I know have already been tagged.

1. My name is at the top of the CN Tower. When they were finishing it in the early '70s, there was an opportunity to write your children's names on a thingy that was going into the spire, and my mum put my name on it.

2. I have a virtual yarn stash. In Oblivion, one of the 'useless' items you can find in chests and boxes is yarn. I've been collecting it and stowing it in the various houses I own.

3. I had a fear (well, more a dislike, really) of toes for a very long time. I got over it when I worked in Cuba for a month in 1999. I figured that no one there knew that I'd not exposed my toes for years, so the hang-up was all in my head - though the 2 people that knew me through university did comment on it.

4. When I was 10, I wore trousers all summer.

5. Between the ages of 8 and 14, I never wore a skirt or dress, except for my Brownie/Guide uniforms.

6. I'm 34 and still don't have a driver's license -- and I work for the Ministry of Transportation.

7. I can lift my left leg up to the height of my head and hold my foot next to my right ear.

8. I'm actually very shy, but overcompensate by being humourous, silly and chatty in person - which necessitates long periods of downtime.

9. My first word as an infant was 'vegetable'.

10. Generally speaking, I can't handle watching television or movies at home. I get overstimulated and run away. Consequently, I've never seen an episode of just about any reality t.v. show. My one vice is Coronation Street.

11. I am a student of druidry.

12. I have been contemplating getting a tattoo for nearly half my life, but haven't yet fastened on anything.

13. I've always been an excellent student/writer, but for the past few years have been crippled by a fear of essay-writing to the point that I can't even start one.

How's that? Peculiar enough fo' yiz'?

In other news, again have lots of photos and WIPs to post. Well -- need to take more pix of the WIPs. Bad SoSo! Bad SoSo! Started Laura's CCCC cardigan in a magical blue by Misti Alpaca and it's going well. Am making a hat for me'sel' (out of CASHMERE!), as my Amelia helmet has gone walkabout. Am procrastinating on t's Boom Bag. Am also absolutely horrified by my Visa bill. I haven't been using it much and have been making payments on my card, but when your phone/internet bills are charged to it and you're not paying attention, it can really add up. No spinning wheel for me any time soon. Time to start actually knitting what I have, methinks. :)

Cello: August 1986 - December 4 2006

2006-12-04T20:38:00.000-05:00

I am now officially two cats old. Dad just called with the sad news that Cello (as in the instrument), my 20-year-old cat, died at 3:30-something this morning. Poor girl. She had an amazing, long life, and despite deafness and thyroid problems towards the end, she was in relatively good, if frail, health. She snuck outside a few days ago when dad went out for a couple of hours, and she got stuck outside in the cold. We suspect that this hastened her end.

I'm so glad I visited my folks on Saturday and had a chance to see her - I didn't outwardly know it, but on some level I think I realised it was goodbye. It all makes sense now.

Sleep well, Snit. I'll miss you.

Insert photos here

2006-11-29T06:27:00.000-05:00

I'm in something of a hibernatory phase at the moment. Curled up, nose to tail, disinclined to put in any more effort than what's required to breathe as I doze.

I have pictures of many things to post - and also many things without pictures - but even uploading photos feels like a bit of a task -- that said, it's always felt that way. As has posting. Ah, fickle self. :)

So, I give you images in words. Don't worry - I'll use far less than a thousand for each one.

I have images of the finished greengold and rose text-messaging mittens, featuring a big thumbs-up from me.

I have a still-almost-finished sock #1 in the lovely Interlacements yarn that Abigail sent me. That stuff invites comments from complete strangers on the subway. It's like dappled light and shadow on some distant planet where things are far more colourful and strange than here.

I've decided a t-shirt is in order that says: 'Eunny Jang is a sadist.' I have the beginnings of a Bayerische in a delicious, warm lavender-violet that only gets more complex the closer you get to it. It's coming along relatively well, and I am indeed enjoying it, but I'm still trying to wrap my head around how a) working with a 7-stitch cable can be done without a cable needle, and b) how it would be possible to achieve 'crisp stitches' sans said cable needle. Heck - my stitches on this sock are anything but crisp. Fuzzy Bayerische, here I come.

We saw angora goats. Mum and I went on the Downtown Knit Collective's first bus trip and visited Wellington Fibres. Many goaty pictures. Those beasties are in constant motion - so twitchy. Even when they're standing still and looking at you, their eyebrows are going every which way. The sires were the only ones that seemed capable of achieving complete stillness - they were variously described by fellow bus trippers as looking like 'an old man' and 'a 97-y-o woman'. Hee. Yay goats! Mum sketched to her heart's content and came away with a few neat images. Rumour has it that the next bus trip, some time next year, will be to Koigu. Glee!

Jacquie had a funtime thankswarming party at her new digs last Friday, which was a little overwhelming to start, given the serious influx of Urban Exploration folks (none of whom I knew), but then some knitters showed up. Too tired to link to everyone at the moment (waking up at 5:30 a.m. for no particular reason'll do that to you), but familiar faces included Rocketbride, the Needle Addict, Kiwi Ceri, Heather, Avalee and the MadHatress. Fun! So glad I went. Wish I could've stayed longer, but had to hightail it because...

Sandi's husband Jay's new band, Easy Way Out, was performing -- and it was fantastic. Not only was the music great, but adding to the delight was seeing how much fun Jay was having on stage. I hadn't heard him sing rock before, and, well, he sounded kinda like Chris Cornell. That, and they were accompanied by rapper George Reefah, which just made it double-good. I had a serious urge to rush home afterwards and listen to Body Count -- not from the perspective of the violent lyrics and all that, but ohhhh, the sound of it. Took me back and made everything right with the world. The only downer was the disappearance of Sandi's purse, and with it, her dear Goldie. People are sucky sometimes.

On a happier note, one of the falcons decided to hang out on our balcony railing for a while last Sunday morning.

Right. Off to work, since there ain't much else to do at 7 a.m. other than rub my sandy eyes. I'll try to post piccies soon.

more than an owl

2006-11-11T08:50:00.000-05:00

Today is a good day. It's cold and vaguely rainy and grey, but it feels peaceful and clean. A day to stay indoors and do housey stuff, bundled in flannel pyjamas and a sweatshirt. The kind of day that my father is prompted to gaze out the window and say: "Oh England, my England." He came here as a young man in 1967, and there's a type of day - like today - with this particular wettish, damp, cool quality that reminds him of his homeland. He's a bona fide tortured artist, and is imbued with the dual qualities of romanticism and anger. He was a stern parent, but also capable of being very silly.

Remember a while back I found an owl pellet on my balcony? It gets better. This morning I had tea and a clove on the balcony, revelling in the wind and the pewtery autumnal light, watching the pigeons and a couple of gulls riding the wind - but wait...those birds are...reddish-brown, not gull-grey, and they're biggerandtheirwingshavehugepinfeathersandcurveupatthetipslikefighterplanes...and now they're curving closer and right past my balcony about 15 feet away and they have hooked, predatory beaks like military commanders' noses and they're huge! Falcons. A pair of falcons. Today is a good day.

I'm also thinking of my grandfathers today.

Albert Augustine Patrick McKenna (Bertie), born in 1888, ran away at the age of 14 to join the army and lied about his age, served in the cavalry in India, was a merchant seaman, and served his country at sea in both WWI and WWII.

Francis Edward Carey Peaker (Ned), served his country at sea in WWII, and on November 1st, 1941, received a telegram on the ship informing him that my mother had been born. Pulled the gun carriage carrying the casket at King George's funeral. Owned the village shop and post office in Huddersfield, W. Yorks. "We're out of bread; you'll have to have toast."

I never had the chance to meet either of them. They both survived the wars, but died before I was born. Thanks to both of them and to all the men who served and made it possible for dad to reminisce and for me to see falcons on Remembrance Day.

Cats and Mittens

2006-11-08T15:57:00.000-05:00

Thanks all for your kind words and offers of help - I really do appreciate it. I wish there was a way to respond directly to comments. In response to various questions from folks, I do spin, but to this point just on a drop spindle. I've taken a wheel class with Laura, and I desire her wheel - a gorgeous Lendrum double-treadle. I'm saving my shekels. Robin was very sweet and offered me a book, which was a lovely thing to do. I study psychotherapy and have been seeing a therapist for over 5 years, so I'm pretty much booked out on the subject of depression, but I think it's so nice that you offered. Thank you. :)

I've upped my antidepressants on the advice of my doctor and have a referral to a psychiatrist (!) so here's hoping that in the short term I'll be able to muddle through.

I've not been idle while off work for the last couple of days. Here is a mitten, knitted at the request of t's niece Laura. It isn't just an ordinary mitten, though - it's a text messaging mitten from Knitgrrl, with flip-up thumbs. Mitten #2 is on the needles, but I've been holding off so Jacquie and Sandi can see stranded knitting in action.

I've also been kicking some butt with Niamh Spins White, my latest GuildWars character. Nothing takes care of angst like handing skree's arses back to them on a plate (we won't talk about the many times mine has been handed to me in this way).

NSW is named for my beloved NuNu, who as you can see, is white, in addition to being named Niamh. I haven't seen NuNi in over a year and a half, and I think about her all the time. Here she is with Freya, a.k.a. Kitten.