Monday, May 31, 2004
Geneology
My family, they don't talk about each other. Not where we came from or what we did. We were taught to be afraid of all the old people when we were children.I knew little bits and pieces and I knew that I had family here. Well, one family member left here (and here I'm just going to use "SMITH" cause, well, cause). There's not many of us 'Smiths' left. I'm referring here to those of us that carry the 'Smith' name. My father. Me. My half-sister. And Barry.
My brother hyphenated, so maybe he counts, I dunno. My father is 68. My half-sister, who's 17, well I'm assuming she'll get married and change her name. I've always known that if I ever did get married I would keep my name. The jury's out on hyphenation but I've (despite not really knowing anything about my family) always felt a certain amount of pride in my name. I don't know why. I just have.
That side of the family emigrated from England (Yorkshire) in 1910. They bought the farm that we visited today in 1918. The original barn and the house, both built by the previous owner, are still there. And sometime during 1919, they actually physically moved them about 1/2 a mile to a better spot. Imagine that. With horses and trees. They moved the house and the barn.
They had children. Those children had children (three of which would be my father and the two brothers, Bobby and Barry).
I'm not concerned with my father for this story. Cause he's, frankly, a shit. And everytime I think I've uncovered all his shittiness, he jacks it up another notch. Not that I don't love him. In a way I guess I do, I'm a lot like him, so I'm pretty much stuck with it. But, he's a shit.
Barry and Bobby finished school each to about to grade 11. Barry (the elder) termed the decision of his own as 'It was time to pick up a fork or a shovel. So I did.' Bobby quit school a year later when their father died. This is sometime in 1950ish. I think their mother died in '53.
Bobby and Barry lived on that farm and grew wheat, oats and barley. They never married. It was just the two of them for all those years as all the family moved west. Everyone eventually did.
Twelve years ago I got a phone call one morning - this quavery little voice asking for my father. Since my father had a thing about anyone giving his unlisted number out (I still get calls for people looking for them) I had to ask who it was and then get him to call back. This man on the phone says, 'It's Barry. Bobby's died.'
I remember thinking how sad it was since I knew they were the two recluses but I didn't really give it much thought. I didn't know them. No one seemed to care.
When I moved here I always felt a little like I had finally come home. I felt good about that because I knew we had a long history here and I'd never been comfortable in some weird way out west.
Over the years my stepmother has gleaned information and forcibly infiltrated the family, while refusing to ever tell us anything about them. I could tell you stories that would make you cry (too) but this is already the post of the century. I know that for the last three years she's made a point of calling Barry every couple of months. She wants the land. No, that's not bitterness. That's hard fact (and history). Dad's fucking old and she's only 48. She wants the land. Barry seemed unconcerned though so hopefully he's onto her.
I've never gone down there mostly because I don't drive here and my stepmother's always told these horror stories about how Barry lived and how strange he was. I was always a little bit afraid to go, to be honest. I wasn't even sure if he even knew I existed, really. My older sister visited last year - we went to see if we could try and find the farm so we could meet Barry and they refused to tell us where it was. A couple of months ago when my Aunt Teddie called for the same reason (she's been researching her side of the family) they both told her that Barry didn't have a phone.
Which is bullshit.
So, Aunt Teddie had written him from New Zealand.
I guess he'd written her back to tell her that he'd meet us in a central place in town and then take us all for lunch.
They had already left New Zealand and didn't get the letter so when we got there today he'd gone there and waited for us to meet with him. Yesterday. For a couple of hours.
So, I'm already feeling terrible but he asks us in, all embarrassed cause he's in his work clothes, even though he can't do much work anymore. Most of the farm is leased out now. He is 70, after all, and I think that Bobby had done most of the heavy work. The house is the same one that came with the farm in 1918. Not really any electricity, propane stove, bathtub that you have to cart water in to fill up. There's certainly no TV. You see what I mean right? He's lived in this house all of his life, for the last 12 years completely alone and it's barely changed in all these years. There was actually a calendar on the wall from 1954.
He is the sweetest man. Ever.
He told us as much of the history as he could remember and brought out things he'd been keeping to give us. Catalogues from Aunt Teddie's dad's company from 1952. He'd marked the pictures of the things they used to buy for the farm. He took us on a tour of the barns and showed us how the wells work.
We all got in the car to go to the graveyard together to see all the graves and he really wanted to take us to lunch. Although by this time it was 3pm and we had all already eaten. He had kept asking us about lunch so I think Uncle Patrick understood that this was something important to him, so we said we thought we'd all like to go have some tea.
Barry directed us to the other side of town, quite a far ways from the farm and we all trooped in (and ended up having cheesecake and lemon meringue pie). Uncle Patrick asked him how he had found this restaraunt since it seem quite far.
I guess that when he found out we were coming he asked the neighbors (they help him quite a bit, apparantly) to recommend a couple he could take us to. So, he and the neighbor tested a couple over lunches and then he came back all by himself for a 'dry run' last week.
I swear to god, I spent the whole afternoon with tears in my eyes.
At one point when we were sitting in his kitchen, he put his head down in his hands and he said that he thought he'd been a failure. That his life had been pointless.
I actually did have to leave then.
All these years, working so hard, living 'rough', working the land basically just like his parents and their parents had while people die around him and finally he's all alone there. Wondering what it was all for. I don't know if the farm made money, I think it did, all the equipment is new and there are new roofs on the house and the barn. But he spent all of his life working for something, only to find out there wasn't anything to work for.
It's this family who're failures. It's this family who left him alone. It's this family who never spoke about him or taught their children about their history. It's this family that wants his land just to sell. And it's this family who deserves it the least. I'm so deeply heartbroken that I never knew and never got to know this kind and gentle man who is the least failure out of all of us.
I don't want the land, I never have, but when the time comes I'll do anything to keep that woman from getting my heritage. Even if it's just to give back to the town.
Because NOW I finally know what there is to be proud of about my name.
a better person, a lousy family
Today I met my second cousin.I have never been so profoundly touched and deeply saddened by anyone in my life.
And disgusted by the realization that I don't think any of the few of us left is worthy to carry this name, when placed next to him. We certainly haven't done it justice nor been gentle with it. Some of us should have been burned at the stake, or drowned at birth.
I can't even write about it right now. But I will.
Once I stop crying.
Does anyone else know at what point I became such a pathetic wet noodle? Oh, no, wait. That was December/January wasn't it?
Sometimes I wish I could go back to being untouchable, only inwardly emotional Jen, cause, this other Jen, she makes me bone-deep-tired.
Sunday, May 30, 2004
apparantly
...not tired enough to actually sleep. *sigh*I'm contemplating reading the article I printed out last week entitled 'Whether to lock in a mortgage is a tricky question.' but I doubt even that would work at this point.
Besides, the mortgage isn't up for renewal till March of 2005 and by then I'll just be 'How much equity is that? Can I have the cash please? Must go travel the globe, wreaking havoc wherever I land. Can't you see how imperative that is?'
My visitors crashed about 9 pm so I am sitting in the dark living room, typing quiet as a mouse while the cat shivers in terror beneath the chair. 'There are people here. Tall people.'
Did I think I got a tough street cat? Pfah. I got the pussiest of the pussys. I get the feeling they were lining up around the slummy blocks every morning to steal his lunch money and kick a little kittycat ass.
Why is it so quiet here? I have no one to read. And I can't work up enough something or other to check out new blogs. Cause I just can't. Alright!? Jeez. Fine! Whatever!
ooookay, now I've even bored the shit out of myself.
too tired
But, for you D, a lyric. A long one, even.lyric at post:
..I'm looking at a long time to get there
I'm looking at a black light
I'm looking at a fall from a building
I'm looking at the firefly
And I think
I can't even think
I can't even speak
I can still smile..color>
Saturday, May 29, 2004
it's just a little
Weird to get lots of sleep. I wouldn't say it was good sleep, per se, but there was 13 hours of it. That's got to count for something. Especially since I did not do any of the 800 things I had to do today to get ready for the NewZealandfamily visitors tomorrow.I guess I'll be getting up early cause right now I am going to go back to the couch and actually watch 'Kill Bill'. Although, apparantly, it's not worth it.
Ray! Thanks! Will email when I am more upright.
Thank you and good night.
Friday, May 28, 2004
and for those of you who didn't get the 'I AM' reference
..which is most of the planet, because, really, why would you? It's a "MOLSON CANADIAN" beer commercial. I AM...Seriously though, we see all the risque overseas commericals by email or on the 'commercial awards' but apart from 'The Ultra' and #'s 10 - 15, these are stellar and very Canadian, and no one ever gets to see them. Go see, please. Read the blurb and then click on the link (ignoring the ones mentioned above) - note here the first two are for the CFL team that replaced the Roughriders (the Renegades) so you may just want to click on the "Client - Molson Breweries" - one. I beg you. Because, even though I'm also British, I AM CANADIAN (and we didn't knowingly send terrorists to the US) Really, don't you wanna know?
Oh, yeah, and 'Tuesday' he's bandying about a lacrosse stick, which I used to play, so if any of you are thinking about being smart-asses, I suggest you go look up 'box lacrosse' and learn a little a-boot the game before you do so.
for the canadians - this ad agency rocks. keep watching. the Quebec pot one made me cry.
note to self
Don't come home from work, leave a note for the guy moving in that you need the elevator key because, yes, yet again, it's fucked. Like it always is on a Friday. When it costs $600 for the useless elevator guy to come out on a weekend and RESET it cause some stellar example of intelligence thinks it's funny to push all the buttons at the same time or jump up and down in it or whatever else it is these morons do, and your condo corp is $25,000 in the hole....where was I?Oh, yeah. Don't come home, leave a note, remove all your .. ahem .. underthings and then get changed into your Denver Hayes jammy pants with half the ass ripped out because then at some point when you are messing with the elevator key you will realize that the new tenant standing beside you is staring through the hole.
I AM .. a shining example of a board member. Welcome to the building.
lyric at post:
..going to town with my best dress on
double clutching in my high heel shoes
check the mirror and I blow myself a kiss..color>
dirty bare feet in the VIP section
This is a golf company story. Related to #'s 6 and 62 and I'm going to be sort of vague (it was all on the up and up, seriously) but this friendship and some other things cost me - a lot, due to the bullshit misogynist golfer culture. Which I'm still bitter about - even all these years later. (oops, back away from the soapbox, back away...).One night, after a game against BC....
(side note here:) I'm talking about the CFL (Canadian Football League). (and I don't care what anyone says= less downs and a longer field makes for a better game, even if no one's watching). Anyways, "we" lost, of course, because at that time the Ottawa Roughriders ('my' team) had players playing both offence AND defense and had actually shown up at the airport at one point to fly to the next city for a game that night, only to find out that the payment bounced and no one would let them on the plane. They had to drive instead. Demoralized and exhausted, I'm not even sure they won A game that season. I remember their practices - about 30 degrees (100 F) in an outdoor stadium. J's hands used to swell so badly from the heat/exertion he couldn't bend his fingers fully until the next day.
....we went to the 'Shark Club' and in the course of the night, the team's highest paid player (after trying to get me to give him free golf clubs and being told - in a polite way - to eat shit, die, and then go buy his own) 'accidentally' spilled a pint of beer all over me. Since I was wearing heels and a dress (a rare occurance) one of the other players, who was a No Fear rep, gave me a t-shirt and spandex shorts. I spent the rest of the night barefoot and looking like I had just come from a sticky workout at the gym. I tell ya, it looked pretty high class when I walked out of the hotel in the morning with the players as they got on the bus.
About a month later, J had left the team (and I had been fired) and by the end of the next season the team itself was finished and the whole nasty experience had been part of what precipitated my migration from BC.
(history:) The Roughriders were among the first members of the official game in Canada... In 1907 the Argonauts, along with the Hamilton Tigers of the Ontario Rugby Football Union, joined the Ottawa Rough Riders and Montreal Winged Wheelers of the Quebec Rugby Football Union to form the Interprovincial Rugby Football Union – or the Big Four. It wasn’t until 1956 that the Cdn. Football Council was formed, which two years later withdrew from the Rugby Union to become the CFL.
Those clothes went into boxes when I moved and didn't actually make it back out here until two years ago when I finally cleaned out my storage. With the spring cleaning last week I 'found' them again. I don't even think the No Fear gear does this anymore (they're reps now are all BMXers, Skateboarders and skiers) but they had the best sayings on their t-shirts.
In honor of casual Friday, I'm wearing my found-again shirt. It's black. The saying, taking up the entire back of the shirt in big white letters:
I'm not afraid
I'm an animal
And I will eat you if I have to
No Fear.
Chaos in action. I am.
Thursday, May 27, 2004
I really must fix the gallery and get it back up and running. Someday.
abstinence pisses me off
A great big honking hovering *mwah* to everyone who suggested something. I picked the ones I liked the best (er, and I messed with a couple and then Pob inspired me, -you should get some ice on that forehead-) and they're UP there. Alright, I know it's freaking HUUUGE but it's staying there until this time next Thursday.I'm not voting. I was going to and then I tried to pick one. I tried different points of view - the one that flowed the best, the one that sounded best, the one that made me laugh the hardest, the one with the best meaning, uh -mine, the one I thought I wouldn't absolutely fucking LOATHE by 2005, let alone 2006. And I couldn't. So, I'm abstaining.
There's a first time for everything I suppose.
Keep in mind they will ALL have "2006" tagged onto them. So - VOTE - then do your best to ignore it. Thanks, you're a love.
Every single one of you.
If I have little blog crushes on all of you, does that make me a tramp?
lyric at post:
..You could be waiting for a day that won't come
And you can be so much more than you've become
And I have found my feet 257 weeks..color>
suck on this...a barbershop story
Kay, first I have to say to whoever the 1% of you who use Netscape 3 or whatever it is - oh god, I'm so sorry, this place looks like SHIT in it. I don't know about 4 or 5 but there's a 20% share there too. So, if this is you - let me know and I will try to fix it. (not meaning "If I don't like you, too fucking bad" BUT if it's surf-by's I'm not so motivated to fix it.)In wandering about the internet in search of Canadian songs for a cd compilation it occurred to me that I should look up my favorite song that the guys in my barbershop ('temperature conversion') used to sing for me (and that I almost was flung right into the band during last friday night by an overzealous east coaster).
I came across a veritable plethora of information about the damn thing but here's a couple of references I found most interesting (which may help with the understanding of the song itself)....
After the Americans won the War of Independance the Brits were pretty peeved, so they issued licenses to Canadian- and Caribbean-based ships to work as privateers — basically, royally sanctioned pirates.
The line “We'd fire no guns-shed no tears” refers to the fact that most victims of privateers gave up their loot without a fight. (Privateers took the loot by wouldn’t sink the ship or kill the crew unless there was a fight — unlike pirates, who would do that whether you fought or not). Occasionally, however, the ship being attacked would fight back, and that’s where this sad story comes from.
Circumstances of the song-writing: There is not much on this. The sparse biography of Stan Rogers by Chris Gudgeon notes that Rogers wanted to write in the revival style of Steeleye Span. The book also suggests spontaneous and drunken genius in the composition of the song. The liner notes to Ian Robb's "From Different Angels" support the drunken inspiration version of the writing of this song. "Suck on this you goddamn limey bastards" is attributed as his introduction of the song on its first performance.
Barrett's Privateers
By Stan Rogers
Oh the year was seventeen seventy eight
I wish I were in Sherbrooke now!
A letter of marque came from the King
To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen
chorus:
God Damn them all! I was told
We'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's privateers.
Oh Elcid Barrett cried the town,
I wish I were in Sherbrooke now!
For twenty brave men, all fishermen, who
Would make for him the Antelope's crew,
chorus:
God Damn them all! I was told
We'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier
The last of Barrett's privateers.
The Antelope sloop was a sickening sight.
She'd a list to port and her sails in rags,
And a cook in the scuppers with staggers and jags.
chorus...
On the King's birthday we put to sea.
We were ninety-one days to Montego bay,
Pumping like madmen all the way.
chorus...
On the ninety-sixth day we sailed again.
When a bloody great Yankee hove in sight
With our cracked four-pounders we made to fight
chorus...
The Yankee lay low down with gold.
She was broad and fat and loose in stays,
But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days
chorus...
Then at length we stood two cables away.
Our cracked four-pounders made an awful din,
But with one fat ball the Yank stove us in.
chorus...
The Antelope shook and pitched on her side.
Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs,
And the maintruck carried off both me legs.
chorus...
So here I lay in my twenty-third year.
It's been six years since we sailed away,
And I just made Halifax yesterday.
chorus...
Copyright Fogarty's Cove Music, Inc.
If you're going to look for it (which I think you bloody well should) - I'd suggest the version by the Irish Descendants (it's always sung a cappella so don't be looking for a 'musical' version). Then imagine six or seven drunken guys surrounded by poker chips, empty beer bottles, money and a cloud of smoke in a barbershop singing it to one absolutely awestruck girl. Twice, if I could convince them to.
With all the time I've had in the last 24 hours I also found the picture of them I was looking for from 2001. Although I really don't like pictures of myself - especially with my own haircolor and my squintly little smiley eyes, (and, I just realized - 20 more lbs. gahh) here ya go. (left to right) Steve the barber, Phil the dimple, erm....Kevin?, and 'My Dear' Hanrahan. Three of my favorite people, anyways.
the name game
I almost let the whole 'strike' thing go on a little longer - I don't know about you guys, but I'm having WAY too much fun (plus I learned new things and brushed up on my css during the downtime). But, in all fairness, I do have the minimum five now (and more) so I'll keep my promise.I was trying to come up with something with b'gurk! in it cause we had chickens when I was a kid and even thinking that word makes me giggle, let alone actually saying it which makes me *snort* in a most unladylike way.
So, I'll leave it until tonight sometime to give a couple more people I've been WAITING for some more time and then I guess we have to put it to a poll. Which I will need to figure out how to place at the top so I can continue posting.
So, hey, I love you MAN! And I'm going for a cigarette, then I'll come back and 'break the silence'.
lyric at post:
..round and round my head she goes,
in the good dreams though, she wears no clothes..color>
Tuesday, May 25, 2004
interactive post / a plea for assistance from those most clever
the dilemma. the issue. the mental block.
Here's the deal...there needs to be a very very clever name for my odyssey / crusade / travels / wandering / journeying in 2006.I was thinking I'd put up a list over on the side somewhere and add destinations as I settle on them. BUT, for the life of me I could come up with nothing clever to call the whole undertaking at 1 am, 2 am NOR 3 am this morning. Believe it or not.
Like back in Nov '02 when we went on a road trip and chronicled it by taking pictures of the stuffed monkey, Spank (think about that for a sec, my gifted ones). Or when D travelled across the Western Canada, stopping and taking pictures of himself trying to have sex with all the large animal statues on the highway (Crow's Nest Pass, Moose Jaw, a dinosaour in Drumheller, etc. - trust me it's true).
Now, I don't need a THEME per se, but you get the idea right?
Proposals / submissions / suggestions / recommendations being accepted right....now. I'm not posting anymore until I get at least five clever ones. I MEAN IT. No posting.
(I know, I know, it's a pathetic threat but what else can you do in a blog? Help me, or I'll...I'll... what?)
Since my clever bone is defective I need you guys to help me. I beg of you. Cause wittiness runs in your blood. I know this. I feel it. I believe in you.
I'll be out at a support group for blog-addicts in the meantime. Or in the library looking up street addresses in relation to lurking foliage possibilities in Scotland.
Actually, I'll be hurriedly throwing together a CD label but that just sounds so....ordinary.
edit: There will be gifting for the moniker. Dunno what. Something Canadian. Maple syrup? Igloo instructions? Government sanctioned/sold pot? What if you're a Canadian, you say? Well, then I'd have to morph into BritishJen and send a packet of crisps or something. it's not POSTING - it's EDITING
lyric at post:
..when it rains it pours and opens doors that flood the floors
we'd thought would always keep us safe and dry..color>
Monday, May 24, 2004
"stop your bawling, you weak little speck of human trash"
Such a nice thing for a father to say to his son, don't 'cha think? I believe the worst decision I have made all month would be to watch The Hulk.Even by the time I decided to occupy myself doing other things, the mere sound in the background was inducing a twitch.
Dyed the hairs. Packed up stuff to ship that sold on Ebay (my 1987 Whitesnake tour shirt is actually being shipped to Yorkshire. Be afraid.) Ironed clothes for work (I actually like ironing, it's very soothing) and put together this (the top one)...
Trip planning! I still need the EU but that may have to go on another wall. Sassy did something once like 'a tour of my desk' so you guys get a tour of my 'stuff' corkboard. I'm sure it will be a fascinating glimpse into things I find interesting enough to put on the wall beside my computer. Right then, we've established time and time again that my digital camera sucks but just imagine with me. Starting top left corner of lower corkboard and working clockwise....
1. ad from a magazine for cologne. features man and dolphin.
2. a christmas present tag from my godmother. now deceased.
3. directly below that is something cut from a newspaper that reads:
4. directly below that, a four leaf clover I found when I was 6. newsflash - I don't think it's working.
5. (moving back up to the top) is a picture of Scott on his harley.
6. directly below that is another dolphin picture.
7. beside a picture of Brendan Shanahan. yup.
8. below that is three buttons. they say: "God is coming and boy is she pissed." "Earth is the insane asylum of the universe." and "Silence is the only virtue I have left." respectively.
9. (back up to the top, follow along now) a picture of a painting of a cottage. where I want to live. after the treehouse.
10. a horoscope kept for the line... "the jungle is in you and not just a place."
11. a button with rats on it. It says "Rats." I thought this was hilarious as a teenager.
12. a postcard with a dog on it that contains the following text..
13. a cartoon from a newspaper (BC?) which says.."Mom, what's a label?" "It's something they put on a person so you can hate them without having to get to know them first."
14. beside that is a St. Louis Brendan Shanahan hockey card. (it was a GIFT)
15. below that is a magazine ad for tequila with a reptile wearing sunglasses and a big 'bling' medallion, text is... "It wouldn't be the first reptile you met in a bar."
16. a button that says.. "Fuck off and die."
17. the yellow arm tag from the polar bear dip I was in. It was -25. The ice slab they cut out of the lake was four feet thick. I raised a thousand dollars.
18. a postcard of yup, dolpins, from Florida.
19. right above that is a picture of a tshirt owned by a friend in Whistler. Text is... "unadultered boogalooo". And it was.
20. a card of two polar bears laughing. okay their probably about to kill each other, but they LOOK like they're laughing.
21. a little stamp of an angel that was on something my mother sent.
22. a cartoon of a woman saying to a man... "It's incredible - we've only just met, yet I feel like I've known you all my life and I'm getting really sick of you."
23. and last but not least. a copy of the poem, The Room by Douglas Nepinak.
And now, dinner and off to watch Chicks with Sticks.
interesting snippets of a conversation, at least to me
The phone rings. It's like freaking midnight. I'm reading a book. I hate answering the phone at that time of night but fortunately it's the new cell and the new number and only about ohhhh, 4 people have it so I figure it's safe to answer. It's Tony:there."I can see you and I in thirty years, sitting on the porch, drinking Coronas and smoking Players' Light. And we'll look over at each other and say, "Why didn't we ever get married?"
He's having a little trouble with me leaving. Even though he's offered to pay for the ticket and I've been talking about it for years. Tony:there is very very blunt. His final words on the matter are: "I will not discuss this with you any longer. I will not and can not accept that you will leave and not come back. I absolutely refuse to lose my best friend."
I can't make him understand that 12 hours by car or 12 hours by plane mean exactly the same thing. Or that he will always be my best friend who's just a phone call away.
Shithead. But I love him. And it's awfully nice to have someone call to say they love you too. I don't have enough of that in my life.
And I have posted too many times today. And been through too many emotions. And so, tomorrow, I rest. So there.
Sunday, May 23, 2004
thoughts with only a tenuous connection to each other
Why on earth would it be easier to email my post in then it would be to log into blogger and post directly in the source? I do not understand.Call me silly.
I just want the damn password protection back.
And, quite obviously, since I still cry twice a week, won't be doing so for quite some time.
"Drown it." I said.
It seems quite clear to me that I still need to work on the cat compassion muscle I have not flexed in 19 years. Since the bratty next door neighbors kid came to school in 1985 to tell me that MaJen had given Junior to his father to shoot in the head.
(Junior being my cat that could not go to my father's house to live with me.) He annoyed her. He meowed a lot. Ergo, the solution to that would be to have the neighbor shoot him in the head. That's so bloody obvious I just don't know how I missed the rationality of it.
Apparantly she did not consult the internet like I did last week as Cabotcat seems to have the same problem. IGNORE THEM. It only takes about three weeks for them to get the hint.
Three long weeks. Maybe I shouldn't have stayed mad at her for that all these years. Cause I sort of get her point.
(Isn't that the alternate definition of "grown up"? Finally understanding what your parents were always bitching about. That 'click' where you go, "Ohhhhh, that's why she kept yelling - JUST WAIT TIL YOU HAVE KIDS OF YOUR OWN - all those years.")
Anyways, Cabotcat's not all that bad. He's only crying when I'm not sitting down so he can be on my lap. ...with his little opposable thumbs curled in anticipation of some future dastardly deed.
To his credit, he seems to love me lots for saving him from a life on the mean streets and he doesn't cry in the mornings. Just sits and stares at me. Which is fine, frankly, since my eyes are closed. And there is no Sir Halitosis as I think he's embarrassed of his broken/missing teeth and does not get real close and breathe on me with his mouth open.
He does have the same fascination that the Munchkin had with following me everywhere. Even to pee. I think that if he starts to root about in the garbage can, I may quietly go insane. ...babbling unintelligibly to the imagined reincarnation of my dog.
Okay, fine. One cute cat post. Just cause I'm sure I've deeply offended the cat lovers out there (if you haven't been around long enough to know the Munchkin story, then I would invite you to leave. And never come back. Cause you won't get any of this. No offense.)
He snorts. It sounds exactly like he's clearing phlegm out of his throat. It's very cute. Although it doesn't sound it. Trust me.
He also has dandruff. Which will be bad when people visit since it seems millions are allergic. I'm trying to work up the courage to give him a bath. Maybe I'll clip his nails first. After I rewrite my will.
lyric at post:
..i can't throw away my fears
up into the atmosphere ..color>
a nailbrush? the baseboards? what?
you see, whatever the crappy-at-their-jobs builder guys who renovated these places put on the baseboards is sticky. The glue? They couldn't be bother to finish their job? Everything sticks to it. I've cleaned them once before but when you've got a dog that sheds a pound of hair a day, there's not that much point.650 square feet. Two and a half hours. Cause it's sort of like that "moving out, must clean everything to get my deposit back" kind of cleaning. Except the place isn't devoid of furniture.
The munchkin had some serious addiction to TP so for twelve years I couldn't put any in the bathroom garbage can. That didn't stop her from checking every three hours just in case I'd forgotten.
The garbage can is between the toilet and the sink cabinet and down on my hands and knees to clean the toilet I notice a large mark on the toilet on that side.
It takes me a minute to puzzle out what it's from. Lacey brushing up against it when she checked the garbage can.
I had such an immediate reaction I had to sit back on the bathroom floor and cry. It felt like watching her die all over again.
I feel like I'm cleaning out the last little bits of my dog from my life.
And that's something I never wanted to have to do.
dinner by inattention
When entering the grocery store last week, I remember, as usual, to hold my cd player above the security posts (no, it's not stolen but it sets bloody everything off) and proceed to move as quickly as possible to grab everything on the list before the crowds send me round the bend.Reaching the meat section, I check only the prices before picking up four largish packages that can be divvied up to feed me for the next 14 days. I don't really have any solid preference for meat choices, other than preferring beef. With the chickens all having the flu and the cows all pissed off, there's less and less choice these days. Although for some strange reason, the mad mooers are more expensive lately. I don't watch the news really, but I assume that it means we're finally being allowed to ship beef across the border. I could be wrong.
Checkout. Jam as much as possible into the backpack to save my arms from going to sleep halfway home and of course, the cd player is now in the backpack, thereby setting off the whooping alarm on the way out. I think how funny it is that I set one of those things off at least twice a week and no one has EVER stopped me. I've been looking forward to a flying tackle by some overzealous shelf stocker for months. Alas, it seems that it is not to be.
Reaching home I unpack and get out the chopping board to slab up the meat for the freezer.
I have roughly 8 lbs of different cuts of pork.
Shoulder, butt, inside round - with bone, without bone.
I can honestly say that I am now all pigged out.
And trying to avoid scrubbing the baseboards with a nailbrush by blathering on here.
lyric at post:
..everything you are
falls from the sky like a star..color>
Saturday, May 22, 2004
thinking. on the couch.
I'm thinking about fate. Or, rather, Fate.It came up in conversation the other day and I began to wonder about it. I guess I believe in little bitty fates. But complete and total predestination? "Thou Cannot Stand Before The Will of Heaven"? The thought that something, once set into motion, has an inevitable and foregone conclusion that we really have no say in and nothing to do with?
If I were a believer in Fate, then right now, right this very second I think I could very well be staring at my own. Circumstances, desires, plans, and people, perfect people that have come together at the right time and the right place that you think would have no other conclusion but one. The One I Want Them to Have.
Or is that yet one more example of human arrogance? It's Fate because it worked out the way I wanted it to. But it's Bad Luck if it doesn't.
Whoa, and don't even get me started on the whole if I think I recognize it as Fate, then does that jinx it in some way, causing the universe to hiccup and stutter a little to the left just out of spite? train of thought (that was just one tiny railcar, trust me).
And what is Fate like? There are 'the Fates' of literature.
Ha. Ha.
In a way, when I think of Fate in tangible form and feature, I think of a lone woman. Not the young woman/crone/hag phase thing. But one beautiful woman. And I wonder what she'd be like if I were to wake up one morning with her looming over me. Because she'd have to be good AND evil, right? Fate is not always kind. Fate shows you what could be, then snatches it away. Fate gives you the perfect thing at the imperfect time. Fate drops an amazing bomb and changes your life, even if you don't want her to. Your destiny is here! It's wondrous! Oops, no it's not.
She'd have wings, I think. Black and sleek and shiny, covering her completely and opening at a thought to show bronze skin looking like warmth and comfort. Soft and full lips hiding a caustic kiss. Long silvery hair laying like a river across her shoulders, each strand a smooth perfection which only to the touch would reveal themselves as stinging nettles. Her graceful fingers would end in curved and polished claws so sharp that even the most gentle caress may lacerate. Even sincere and careful, the tracks of her affection would be written in her lover's blood.
Like all heavenly creatures she would be capable of love and fear as well as wrath and pride and sometimes it would pain her to be hated for what she is. She would shed her loneliness in diamond bright and deadly tears.
Fate, with a heart that beats, harboring desires, like any other heart. Loyal to those who seek intimacy with her, denying no one and loving her enemies as dearly as she loves those who search her out.
Is this the Fate that I am to meet?
Or is it just a set of happy little unexplainable coincidences that will all come to naught, in the end? Serendipity? No meaning these random flashes, although they seem so clear, interlocking so tightly into this puzzle. So effortlessly I can hear them 'click' into place and feel the weight of their presence with every breath I take. It would seem like such a waste for it not to be destiny, a waste of such painfully perfect pieces all lined up and waiting for the final act.
Which is it? What will it be? Will inevitability or coincidence be left standing when the curtain drops?
I'll have to get back to you on that one.
note to self
Must remember to take T3 there next time he's in town. Really.Now, where did I put that couch? Oh yes, there it is.
lord dying jesus
The one solid thing I can count on in this world is how much I'm going to miss the east coasters when I go.Lord, I danced. I jigged. I waltzed. I haven't had that much fun in years.
Give me some good 'ol Newfie fiddle music and a massive amount of dancing fools and I'm a happy girl.
I'm also happy that PornyBoy posted but I'm so damned exhausted that I just have to go back to bed.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
I give up
So, I call my "old" cell phone company today to verify they got that piece of shit phone back and could now cancel my account so I could pay my $200 buy out.Buddy on the phone there says, "If you can find someone to assume the contract we'll send them one of ...these... phones and for $35 - $65 they can go on a 2 year contract and then you won't have to pay the $200."
I say: "So, MY only option AFTER 8 YEARS was to pay $75 for a SHIT phone locked into a THREE AND A HALF YEAR CONTRACT but you'll give a NEW person the BEST PHONE YOU HAVE FOR $65 AND A TWO YEAR CONTRACT?"
Yes.
Hello? No seriously... HELLO?
Did I wake up in the twilight zone?
Do you and your global company not see how completely fucked up that is?
Jesus Christ.
A coworker is going to take it. I'm paying the $65 for her. It saves me $135.
But it doesn't compensate for my sanity.
lyric at post:
..And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have all of me ..color>
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
It has to be said
For a city who supports their hockey team unenthusiastically at best it's completely hypocritical (and slightly pathetic) to jump on the bandwagon at this point.I know people who have never once watched a hockey game (and still haven't) who have gone out and bought flags for their cars.
And up until roughly 2 weeks ago I was a hockey fan...
..until all those normally silent and apathetic fans decided to drive up and down the streets honking their horns and screaming for hours and hours after the team they ignore most of the time finally wins. Even if it's a win in another city.
Especially since they're all on their way home to the quiet and empty suburbs to get a silent nights sleep. While I get to sit here and listen to 800 more of them drive by.
SHUT...UP...
Idiots.
Where Do You Want To Go Today?
Jen,also the answer is ... Yeah.Not good enough, really though, is it?
Okay. The idea was always to go at least to New Zealand once the Munchkin was gone. Then it got bigger and sucked up Australia, just because I started to know people there and then that got even bigger once Wade said he'd introduce me to everyone. With the British passport I can go to a whole schwack of other places too. I've always wanted to go to Ireland. I've been in England a few times so I don't really have any great desire to go back but as a citizen it would be a nice jumping off ground. I've still got an Aunt/Uncle and cousins in Cleethorpes and Grimsby. Here's a map. MaJen was born in Grimsby. I was there when they were putting the final touches on the Humber Bridge in 1981. hrm, now I do want to visit. :)
(sorry, little trip down memory lane for me).
I can go to Oz on a long-stay visa (12 months) and I'm exempt for 6 months in NZ (or 9-12 with a visa). I can use the British passport to work in the UK or wherever. My step-mother's sister (who's the only one I like anyways), lives in Amsterdam.
One of our group started running when he was 35 (he started with the Great Wall of China in 1994) and ran from Brisbane to Perth in 1999 then went back in 2001 and drove the same route (it's an amazing story, the website is here). Long story short - the car is in storage so I've even got a car out in Oz waiting for me, if I want it.
There truly isn't any compelling reason for me to stay here and all those reasons above for me to leave.
So, the idea would be.... rent the condo out so if I did come back then I've still got my home and if I didn't then I could sell it. After two years I've already got 20K in equity so it's well worth hanging on to until I know for sure. I've already proven I can pay the bills on a shit-money job so there's no financial reason not to leave my (much as I love it) current shit-money job.
The plan was to go and if I didn't want to come back well, then I didn't have any obligation to.
I made an offhand comment to T2 last week about flying off to live on sheep farm and I'm not sure if he thought I was serious or not but he called me the next day from Houston and the first thing he said was... "You know, I don't think sheep farming is as glamorous as it sounds." *guffaw*
And even if I don't take advantage of the work exchange program, my company has offices in Sydney, London, (Stockholm, Thailand, Saudi, Jordan, Kuwait, Chile and pretty much any other place you can name, although I'll not be learning any other languages, thanks).
Yes, of course you can come! But for which bit?
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
unsustainable
hee hee but I'm still all 'cited. Mom's stuff will be here by Friday and then I'll get all 'cited again. Then it'll wear off, cause it's just not possible to keep that up for you know... months.I did uh... happen to notice that as a British citizen I won't require a visa for New Zealand so I only will need one for Oz. That's cool (less visas = less money).
Tony:there is all happy about the trip to California. His sister lives in Fulsom so not only are we going to Alcatraz but her husband works at the prison, so we'll be touring ol' Fulsom prison too.
Last roadtrip to the US West - dead guys tour (Jimi Hendrix, Bruce Lee & Kurt Cobain) / this trip - prison tour. Men are weird.
Although, THIS driver has a few places of her own we'll be stopping at. Like the sea lion caves my father drove right on by *every single* family vacation we went on.
I'll be driving out on a Saturday, then he's nicely giving me a day of rest before we head to the US on Monday. Very early in the am. See, rest is required because after 12 hours out to the coast - I'll be doing all the driving. Because he's a truck driver and wants to just navigate (personally, I think the Americans scare him as he said - but you've driven there before. Err, on this particular route, only as far as Olympia. Which is 60 miles after we get off the ferry.)
Isn't there some man gene that makes this a lie? A man sitting in the passenger seat for 10 days and not wanting to drive? hmmph. We'll see.
Then 12 hours home. At least I'll get 24 hours of my own music. Cause Tony:there is all about the rock bands of the early 90's. And Johnny Cash. gahh.
And value witch would appreciate this - last time I was in the US I got a QFC Advantage card (a grocery/everything chain that doesn't exist in Canada) because you get a discount on gas. And I kept it. I'm so proud of myself.
So, I'm just trying to work up more excitement for THAT then I am for something I'm not doing for 19 more months.
procrastination - it's not always a bad thing
Cause since the last time I started the rigamorale for getting my dual citizenship, they've amended the rules. Go Britain!The people here at the Consulate are not very user friendly though. In fact, I called the High Commission and after pushing 10 keys and hearing "all the information you need is on our website at b.r.i.t.i.a.n.i.n.c.a.n.a.." 15 times by then they'd closed for the day. Only open from 10 to 3pm don't cha know. And no 800 number. Daytime long distance charges all the way.
But whatever, if they're making me a citizen, I should shut up. Right... shutting it.
So, once I receive MaJen's birth cert and old UK passport and I'm home from the US then I'm shipping all my stuff out to apply for registration as a British citizen.
Then, er, swear allegience to the Queen in some secret ceremony. Then apply for passport.
Doesn't that rock? Doesn't it sound weird? Have I just scared the shit out of all you British readers?
"I am a British citizen."
It makes me feel like I'm being born as someone else. Let's hope the BritishJen is a little less accident prone and a lot richer. At least now the rosy cheeks and perpetual paleness will make a little more sense.
Monday, May 17, 2004
trip planning and history lessons
It occurred to me this evening that I should actually take the forms in to get my passport. Except I filled them out and got pictures taken in Sept of 2002. Oops. Too late. Now I have to start over again.Along with finding all my research for the appeal to the British High Commission for my dual citizenship. See, Mom = landed immigrant. Dad = first generation Canadian. Mom, apparantly had to register us babies with the High Commission before we turned 18. It didn't occur to her. So, even though she's a LI and Britain is matriarchal, I now have to appeal using my grandfather. Who died 63 years ago.
So, can someone just scoot over there to York and find the church that burned down with all his records for me? Thanks, that'd make my job a little easier.
Then a phone call from Wade. We've never actually said specifically that I would go with him to Australia so I took this opportunity to well, check on that....
"So, I'm thinking, big fella - are you all good with me coming with you in 2006?"
"Wellll, I guess so" he says. And then laughs in that Wadey sort of way.
He really does have a million cousins. All on the east coast. But this trip he'll go for a month and I'll tag along until he comes back to Canada, then he can introduce me to at least a thousand of his family and I won't be all alone when he leaves. So far, two things on the agenda. Rottsnest Island, west of Perth. No private vehicles so he wants to do a bunch of hiking and biking around. Then a week at his uncle's cabin at Broomshead. At which I will lay semi-conscious on the beach as much as possible to recover from all that *shiver* exercise. But it's a little place and I can't find any good links - in the Byron Bay area about 520 km north of Sydney. I'd like to go to Kangaroo Island but I think we'll fly from one coast to the other.
So, a month in Oz and then over to New Zealand to stay with the family and tour about. Who are actually here in two weeks. Which is cool cause I've only seen my Aunt Teddie once since I was 15 and I went to Disneyland with her. Also Uncle Patrick once since I was five and they got married in our house. It's strange to think they've been there for 30 years and no one in our family has ever been to visit. I'll be the first. And most likely the only.
I was always told that Uncle Patrick was some sort of weird scientist guy who worked at some research station in Wellington before they moved to Nelson so I did a quick internet search and there he was. He met Teddie at Queen's and took her home with him. Weird. Cause I swear that's exactly what he looked like last time I saw him. I guess it's only been 10 years but it seems so long ago.
The trip to California will be the last one I take (unless there's a wedding I can't get out of) until I leave for the other side of the world so I decided that rather then fly out to pick up Tony:there, I'm going to take the 10 hour drive to Vancouver and back one (final) time.
Then, back to finish out the summer before getting a second job and saving my ass off for 16 months.
Gee, doesn't that sound like fun?
Sunday, May 16, 2004
the best things I've read this week
From this lovely place.
Although, considering my horoscope correctly pointed out:
Chances are I'll be skidding sideways in the shower and knocking myself out, with no one finding me until the Cabotcat has eaten at least one leg.
I've been wandering about in different types of dictionaries lately (lovely lovely words) and so am inflicting a few of my favorites upon you. I'll type rather than link though, to save your poor little fingees, don't you love me?)
jactitate - to toss and turn or to toss back and forth
krnch - n. the crunching sound of a head-on crash.
rrrrrrrmmmmg - n. the sound of a hangover, as in Diary by Karawynn Long.
Jury - Twelve men chosen to decide who has the better lawyer.
m.m.f.d. - an abbreviation of miles and miles of f**king desert. Thought to originate from WWII.
t.d. factor - touch = die factor. An extremely precise measuring system for rating the leftovers in your fridge. Choose a number from 1-11 to indicate exactly how dangerous it would be for a person to eat your leftovers. The T.D. factor is particularly useful for shared households, where different value systems about food hygiene or sharing may clash.
b'gurk! - Australian. Used when a person accidently utters a loud stupid sound when frightened or nervous, or in general when a person stupidly fumbles something. A play on the sound a chicken makes when you frighten or grab it.
agnosia - Neuro term. 1. The inability to recognize a coin, key, or other object merely by its feel, e.g., when held in the hand. 2. The inability to recognize a door, e.g., by the sound of its slamming or from its photograph alone. 3. In agnosia, while perception itself (i.e., feeling a coin's shape or hearing a door slam) is normal, recognition of objects is not.
There is a wonderful 'many languages' swear site but it now contains a 'install this now' popup that just keeps coming back. And I'd email them and tell them they're assholes but it's just too damn difficult. So, instead, a lovely book entitled English as a Second F*cking Language : How to Swear Effectively, Explained in Detail with Numerous Examples Taken From Everyday Life.
And now, I'm going to throw more things out.
lyric at post:
..two feet below the surface I can still make out your wavy face..color>
Saturday, May 15, 2004
3 down, 47 to go
CSI Las Vegas, CSI Miami and now CSI New Yawk.descent into fandom, over abuse of linking
Cause Stephen Dorff just makes the most delicious bad guy.
What can I say? I'm just a girl.
Honestly, though, Cold Creek Manor and Dusk till Dawn are the only two movies ever that I've watched containing this woman. The mere thought of sitting through The Other Sister can almost reduce me to tears.
Every single thing about her makes the hair on my arms stand up and my dinner roil about in my belly.
The compelling reason for Dusk till Dawn would of course be.....vampire movie. I heart the vampire movies. Blade, Dusk till Dawn and of course, Lost Boys being my all time favorites.
Although, I have noticed that Blade: Trinity is in post-production.
And now, Charlie's Angels cause I love that Lucy Liu.
oh, oh, bighead head alert cause I'll watch at least a little Swordfish before I go to bed.
But I am a little annoyed that it seems original official sites no longer exist for most of these. Don't the studios make enough money to keep the sites up, I ask? Or did I just not go back far enough? Should I not be whining about this on a Saturday night, when I'm at home, cause I refuse to go out?
Fan/movie moment over. I'll go back to being normal now.
And EDIT note. I was with my other cell phone company for SEVEN years. Bastards>
doin' the packrat toss
It is absolutely amazing how much one can actually throw out when asking the question.... "Will I ship this across the globe if I decide not to come back?"Between now and then I think I can clean out the entire condo.
Raymond - I threw out those fecking runners. Too bad for you. Andrew - once I work up the energy to wrestle those skis out from under the bed, they're gone too.
lyric at post:
..i am the voice inside your head (and i control you)
i am the lover in your bed (and i control you)..color>
Friday, May 14, 2004
it runs in the family
Realizing this afternoon that I had to let about 800 people know my number had changed, I mass-emailed as many as I could and then made a few calls. One to my dad.Pa is best described as a 'sad, strange little man' (I think that's from the Simpsons). I remember being scared shitless of this weird person when I was little for I believed he was Hitler. No reason, other than my mother's insistence on making him out to be cruel, his propensity for war books and a sort of vague resemblence to Adolf himself.
It wasn't until I was 18 or so that a friend pointed out that he actually resembled Elmer Fudd. And frankly, once you look at him through that perception, he IS Elmer and there's never any going back. It's uncanny.
(It drives my stepmother absolutely batty when I call him that. I love it. It's payback for marrying a man 20 years your senior and treating his kids like shit. Get over it. All in fun, really, just a little joke. heh heh)
My clearest memories of him involve him teasing me for being a tomboy (the only time he really spoke to me) and the time he spent with the animals. The only time I ever saw him cry was when his cat died when I was 5 or 6. It's name was 'Rangy' (rang - eee). Mom said a couple weeks ago that Cabot looked liked Rangy and she would never like him for the simple fact that Dad once told her he loved the cat more than he loved her.
He's got a little Jack Russell now called Piper who must be at least 10 and in talking about the Munchkin today he made the following remark..."I don't know how I'll be able to face Piper dying. I'm not sure that I'll be able to survive it."
Which would qualify as the single most emotional thing my father has ever said. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he killed himself when Piper went.
Considering wife #2 also believes he loves the dog more than her, I wonder occasionally what the hell he was thinking in marrying twice and having four children whom he obviously finds a bit distasteful and alien.
No matter, the point here is, I understand how he feels. And I can't fault him for it in the slightest.
It may be the only thing my father and I have in common besides the desire to be left alone most of the time. As far as inherited traits go, I think I could have done a lot worse.
I could look like a Fudd.
Quick, somebody text me!
Did I mention I had no cell phone (ie: no home phone)?.... the company I've been with for 4.5 years sent me a replacement for the low low price of $100 plus one more year added to my contract. It was a complete and utter piece of shit. Also, given that I'm planning on travelling, the overseas coverage was also crap and even in the US the roaming charges were $4 a minute, along with it being per/minute billing. Alas, my only option, loyal customer I have been.The thought of 2 and a half years with this shitty phone, apart from causing a twitch, made me quite sure that by the end of 3 months I'd be poking myself in the eye with a fork and so it forced me to seek further options.
1. buy a new phone ($200) and pay $35 for activation, returning the shit phone along with the extra year with bad roaming and no int'l texting or portability.
2. pay out my contract ($200) and change carriers ($50)
3. keep what I had and end up poking myself in the eye.
In the interest of making this story short(er), I have just spent ALL day checking out other companies.
And now, I have the best phone ever. And the best plan. And worldwide text messaging. And low long distance. And per second billing. And extra insurance, along with the promise that they will not give me a shit phone...ever. Even if I break/lose/throw it against a brick wall every three months. And if I don't use the insurance coverage, they give the money back that I paid for it.
Additionally, it's 20 cents for roaming in the US, and it's unlocked so I can take it to the ends of the earth, put in a new SIM card and have local calling while retaining my Canadian phone number.
The guy in the store blushed when I told him he was my hero. I meant it.
That, and this...which made me laugh for hours...is all I got.
OH, and has anyone else not been able to access the blogspot ftp since it became "new and improved"?
lyric at post:
..you can have my absence of faith
you can have my everything..color>
Wednesday, May 12, 2004
rambly, busy, smiley
mad busy. mad, I say.Too many things to do and not enough hours of the day to do them in, right now.
I did take time to book a car for the NewZealand relative visit in two and a half weeks, check out flights and cars for July for the California trip since I have to book them next week. Or, since Tony:there is paying for half, he decides to get his wondrous butt down to the bank and slap some money down on it.
Which is funny. Cause if you've been paying attention, you'd know he hates to spend money (which is why he has tons of it, obviously). But, lately, he keeps trying to give me money. "If you want to go to Australia, I'll pay for your ticket." "Are you sure you're good for money?" "Do you need any?" No, are you sure?" Apart from the fact that he'd be the last person I would ever even contemplate borrowing money from, he's kind of freaking me out. For the simple fact he's not trying to LEND me money, he's trying to GIVE it to me. Trust me, it's armageddon or something. I just can't stress enough how out of character this is for him, especially since it's not been a one time offer but one that has been cropping up repeatedly lately.
Okay, whatever, got that out. He's a man. Who can figure out how they think? Especially when it's "man as girl's best friend". Actually, I think it's less complicated than I make it out to be, cause if I sat down and stopped bouncing about for 5 seconds, I'd know exactly what's going on. Wait....doing....that..sitting....still.
He loves me, he feels terrible that he wasn't here when I was sick, even though I never told him and now that I have and he was so mad at me, as my best friend there's nothing he can give me I don't already have from him except money. Ergo, throw money. I sort of wish I was the kind of person to take it though. damn.
Well, other than paying half for the vacation. Which is only fair.
But, oh MY, work is so busy too. I had to pull together a coordinated global timeline at 8 am this morning (since I've been putting it off) as T2 did not like the one that the people who are actually..er...experts did. After defending it (much like I imagine defending your thesis is like), I was told how absolutely fucking wonderful I am. Who could not like that kind of feedback? Cause, if you knew T2, you would know that those were the exact words he used.
Purolator called, they're bringing my new phone to work tomorrow. Yay.
Tonight I cleared out a shitload of the archives because the "new" blogger doesn't let you go back farther than 300. Which sucks. Mostly boring stuff and some things I just don't want there anymore. I'll put the whole shebang back up soon. And I moved the setup of the Tombs around a bit.
I did start writing something latelate last night but it's not done yet. So, for now, that's all I got.
I am leaving behind a chesire cat grin. Can you see it?
lyric at post:
..I'm feeling kinda loose, I'm feeling kinda mean
I've been feeling kind of wild since I turned seventeen..color>
Tuesday, May 11, 2004
Potpourri, anyone?
I work on the 6th floor of my building. We have the whole floor and the ‘public’ bathroom is out by the elevators. It’s three stalls so, you know, not very big.There’s a drain in the middle of the floor. Presumably in case someone wants to fling enough water about for a shower even though the taps are “motion sensitive” (yeah, right).
Periodically, the drain backs up or something equally plumber-word like and the entire bathroom smells quite a bit like a carbon based life form has died. (I’d say “CAT” here, but now I own one so that sort of casual cat cruelty is now out). If one happens to stand directly over the drain it smells how I imagine the creature in Alien would smell. Bad enough to actually kick in the involuntary gagging reflex. Actually using the bathroom around these times is quite entertaining as everyone moves in doublequick time and one’s business is accompanied by a variety of harmonious heaving sounds .
On a monthly basis we have to call maintenance (not the brightest stars in the building management sky) roughly four times and ask in increasingly impolite tones for someone to please come and pour something in there to take the edge off the smell.
Today, workmen arrived to cut a hole in the door and install a vent. So, now, the smell will creep through the entire common area, thereby presumably solving the problem of a very bad smell in an enclosed small space.
Bloody good job on the ‘creative repair solution’, I’d say.
lyric at post:
..I don't wanna take her, but she makes me
She knows that she's mine
I don't wanna fake it, but I know what i know
It makes me blind..color>
deliberately nebulous commentary
For which I heartily apologize. For the vagueness, that is. I'm creating a point of reference for myself without actually saying anything. Now, I know that's just no fun for any of you, so if you'd just let me get on with it, I may have something of more interest after.Jen, also - this one you'll get. Yesterday,I went to see someone officially, outlined the issue, made some plans, made a commitment. Then I went to see someone I know who was once in the same position and spoke to them about it. Cause, in going down that road, telling you wasn't enough and someone 'face to face' had to acknowledge the admittance. Some of the things we looked at made me really take a step back and look at some other stuff in an overview sort of way that was quite frightening and that I wasn't even aware were there. Not bad, necessarily, just revealing. It'll work itself out. And now there's someone who's committed to doing that. Anyways, I feel good about it. And again, I owe you my thanks.
(MAN, am I ever good at this unclear stuff, hey?)
The note below to 'Accent Boy' refers to a travelling friend, also known occasionally as T3. And we shall not call him either of those names very often as I have made a promise not to have him a part of the blog. He will always be around here in spirit and, sometimes, in little bits and pieces. He may even be able to find some of those pieces of himself, if he cares to look.
Suffice it to say, he did find me. We had lunch. Lunch was nice. Lunch was good. And so was the food. And it was really quite grand to see him and to know that I probably will again.
And because the post about 'Tiny' has been relegated to the hidden stuff... I'm reiterating this reference here
Too many wonderful things get lost along the way if you choose only to see the shortness of their lives rather than the joy in the time you have.
So, there you have it. End of hazy, boring, Jen-only things.
lyric at post:
..started out seeking fortune and glory
it's a short song but it's a hell of a story.. color>
Monday, May 10, 2004
fffff, for once it actually meant something
my horoscope that is...Imagine that.
hey, accent boy
cell phone dead which also means I have no number for you. If you happen to check this I've sent an alternate number to your email as I'm not really around at work today.Ah, blog as message service.
sorry, everyone.
Sunday, May 09, 2004
sundays and other things
You know how when you sleep for a really long time and you wake up and your back hurts? It always makes me think of shows like CSI where they're always talking about how all the blood pools in one spot when you're dead.Nicely morbid, that.
It amazes me how an insomniac can spent two weeks mostly awake and then one day every so often, lay down and sleep, except for brief periods, for almost 24 hours straight. Maybe it's a way of hiding. Or maybe I'm just tired. Dunno.
I turned the cell phone on during one of those times I was awake to call Tony:there to double check the dates as I need to book a flight (for me) and a car (for us) but it seems to be completely dead. Not 'battery dead' but dead. I checked to see if the poor little things blood had pooled anywhere but it must have been something with no exterior signs. A heart attack or an aneurysm, maybe.
Given that it takes a couple months to have it looked at, I've just ordered a 'new' one. From a payphone in the snow. Where of course I cannot look on the internet to see which ones they're offering. Since you don't get the same type cause you know, there are no deals on replacement phones unless you get the one they want you to get.
It'll be here in ten days. Let's just hope that no one comes over and tries to buzz me and there are no emergencies in the meantime. For all intents and purposes, no phone = no existence.
That feels a bit weird. But fitting.
Maybe I'll just go back to bed.
Friday, May 07, 2004
the new math
2+2= what do *you* want it to be?It's not creative accounting, per se, it's actually a damn fine fact based budget. The facts we've chosen to select, anyways. But, JE-sus.
Self-sufficiency (ie: doing your own taxes with a calculator and forms, changing your own oil, moving your own furniture) is a good thing in my books. Most of the time.
You'd think, given that I'm good with numbers, was a statistician for a while and now partially work with data tables, that I'd actually be better with my own money. Not. My budgets sure are sleek and sexy though.
DB seems to have bounced back from the trauma of the bus stop fiasco and has just announced to the entire department in an offhanded sort of way, "Hey, Jen tried to pick me up at the bus stop yesterday."
If we hadn't had wine (and oh my god, that just reminded me that I left all the grapes in the fridge - must go get.....)
Where was I? Oh, yeah if we hadn't had pear wine at lunch with the cheese, chocolate dipped strawberries and oysters, I may even have been able to get out a good comeback.
Alas, that was not the case.
some words put together in a way that pleases me greatly,
for no particular reason
Over thar at PornyBoy's Place.
And a post from Kdunk entitled My Best Friend the Science Experiment.
lyric at post:
..for though I cannot fly,
I'm not content to crawl..color>
Thursday, May 06, 2004
is this hell? c'mon, fess up. this is hell, isn't it?
It's a little room called 'Condominium Board Member'.I have never said much about being on the board because it's all bad. It's so bad I can't even make vaguely interesting stories out of it. And it's been a nightmare for two years. And I'm not going to say a whole lot now but....
Home ownership? Forced savings plan? HA! Equity means nothing if being on the condo board sends you to an early stress-related grave.
Make it stop. I'll sign anything. Just.make.it.stop.
I'm sure things will look better by the time I get to work, yet again, at the unholy hour of 7:25. I'll be easy to recognize - the one double-fisting Starbucks, a straw in each nostril.
The Fine Art of Dodging Communication
One of the guys at work picks on me consistently. Actually he picks on pretty much everyone and admittedly I feed into it by posting Detroit Redwing stuff everywhere in his line of vision and this morning I did mention that when I'm president of the world I'll have him killed, but whatever...In one of the endless debates I asked:
"What have I ever done to you to deserve you being mean to me?
"You want a list?"
"Please"
"Alright, I'm not sure who I'm going to charge those three hours to though."
Maybe you just had to be there.
This morning I'm waiting for the bus as per usual wearing my headphones with the music cranked in an effort to avoid my little bus stalker from last summer. Although's he no longer hangs around outside my building (but since I don't have a dog to walk anymore maybe he's out there...waiting in vain), he still does take the bus and so the music allows me to stare blankly, gesture vaguely at the headphones and nod curtly when he sits in front of me, turns around and his mouth starts to move.
The bus pulls up. I can kind of hear a noise. It coalesces into honking, honking, honking. I glance over and there is someone in a black car waving frantically at me.
Now, the bus is in front of me, door open and I'm so not missing the bus to go see who the fuck it is. It could be anyone. I make a point of never looking around at honking or screaming. It annoys me. It's rude. Add that to the fact that it's early morning and I can't even see straight until after I've had two more cups of coffee I just get on the bus sort of wondering if there's some other weirdo following me around.
I have to admit, I couldn't tell you what most of my acquaintences drive, but I pretty much know that if the car isn't immediately familiar then it's not someone I want to talk to.
I get to work. Drink coffee. DB comes running around the cubicle and yells, "Christ, are you ever a freak! I was trying to give you a ride to work and you looked at me and then turned away. What the hell is wrong with you?"
I feel bad. He looked really hurt. He gets picked on the worst of anyone in the office and he's one of my favorites.
I guess this means I should wear my vintage Broncos t-shirt tomorrow. It makes him happy.
I promised I'd call to give my number to someone. But, we all know I'm not doing that, right? So, to fulfill the very basic of expectations/promises I sent the following email....."My cell number is **********. It's also my home phone and it's usually only actually on about 3 hours a day. I'm sort of bad that way."
Think he'll be able to guess which three hours it'll be on?
Wednesday, May 05, 2004
back away from the Jen, slowwwwly, slowwwly now
I guess I don't have to worry about another story for T2.I had to leave the board meeting.
I was barely able to resist the desire to punch one of them in the head and I thought it may be more prudent to remove myself before I began mocking their obtuseness.
(although I have to admit, to my shame, that "creeping meatballism" did not immediately spring to mind as an alternate word)
Man, I'm tired. I require 15 hours of sleep in a soft fluffy cloud where I cannot hear hockey fans, phones, alarm clocks, cats meowing, firetrucks or the incessant bleating of my own mind.
cranky pants
erm..not me. T2. I get that head-around-the-corner BARK (which admittedly he doesn't do very often he's just such a nice guy).. "Do you have some time? Right now?"Dragged into his office he promptly begins to read me emails pausing every few minutes to snap, 'What did THAT part mean to you?
Which is followed by a discussion about the strongest word he can use with an elected official to get his point across. I cast my vote for 'assfuck' but he thinks 'Jesus Christ' is stronger. We end up agreeing that his depends on your upbringing (for some reason, for both of us, it was the holyshitwereintroublenow, dadsreachingforthegun defining term of our youth). But, sadly, tact is not one of my virtues so 'assfuck' is out too.
I guess we're vetting everything through me now. It's not like they pay anyone else to sit in his office and listen to him, I'd be guessing that's my job. Not that I mind.
Eventually, he calms down and I tell him my 'Jen story of the week' (weirdly enough, I actually do this consistently for him, mostly everyone else I don't see anymore). He's concerned.... it's only Wednesday, what if nothing else happens? I've spoiled his week!
As we chat I realize that he's always saying things like 'so-and-so is our age' / 'you'd remember that band, it was our generation.' And he's right...but it's just weird - I just don't think of these guys as being anything like me. Even though they are. They went to school longer and they learned to be politically correct and talk the big talk while I just decided I would never conform. I'm just Jen, 24 hours a day. And look where we are now, relatively. Like when Dr. B admits to me that he looooooves 'The OC' and he watched a movie the other night just because Jason Priestley was in it (90210 generation). It's just so out of character from their 'public face' that I have a hard time reconciling the two.
Board meeting tonight.
I'm still at work. I should probably go home. But it's sort of snowing. And I have to go buy crackers and grapes for Friday because someone decided we're having a wine and cheese party for lunch.
Donna? Are you here? Speak to me girlie.
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
Distraction by sleight of mind
I came home and got all tangled up in the financials for the new condo budget. Which, frankly, makes me either want to cry or go on up to the roof for a little extreme skydiving.To distract myself from that I continued my endless quest for the negative of a picture I had given away. It's a picture taken during Stampede 2001 (funnily enough) of the barbers (cause we used to all get together on a wednesday afternoon during Stampede to bond) in a tent at ermm....Desperados. One of the reasons I've been looking for it is because of Phil. Not the Phil below, that's a girl Phil. This is a boy Phil. Who knows where he is now, but he and D and Stevie the barber are in it and it's an amazing group shot of us. My favorites of "us", anyway. Which is why I gave it away. Which is also why for a year I've been trying to find the negative so I can have it reprinted for myself. gahhhh.
Anyways, in digging through the photo albums I came across the pics I have of Tony, during one of the last two or three going away parties we had for him. I know I said below that he and TE were alike but that was based on a four year old memory and I could have just been talking out of my arse.
Quite often I am, believe it or not.
The frightening thing is, looking at the pics, they could be brothers. Although back then Tony was 26 so he'd be the older brother now.
Okay, weirdness alert.
So, then that made me wonder (I know the logic is hard to follow, just do the best you can).... if we all get to a certain point in our lives where everyone we meet reminds us of someone we already know.
And is it based on an age threshold? Or is there some sort of magic number of people past which they start to blend together? I swear one of Rob's kids was wearing one of Scott's dimples a couple of weeks ago.
ah-ha! see, I had a point.
smug break: I'd just like to say here that it's raining. Those knees of mine - never wrong since I was 12. Of course, out on the west coast they just hurt all the time and it wasn't until I moved here that I realized it had something to do with RAIN.
Back to distractions. I then came across an old notebook cause you know I've been writing things down since I could write (that's just a given). Inside this little notebook is a list of things that Tony said to me that I never wanted to forget because for some reason they have a lot of memories attached to them. And you know what? They do. I swear he just made me blush across four years. There were six of them. #4 was words he used that I hadn't heard anyone actually use in conversation before. A couple are even written phonetically. *snort* Garn. Derry. IX-cil-lint. Jinifah.
The next page of the notebook was a list of the three things that David loved about me. David (who's got a bit in the Tombs) was our boss at the time and before he left to go back East we played the 'tell me three things you love about me' game. Weird, with your boss, I know, but it was a different sort of bossness. For lack of a better way of putting it.
I remember one of the my things I loved about him - it had to do with his ability to put himself in any situation and see something from any point of view (mostly mine) which was something I'd never encountered in anyone before. Or since. Incredible to watch.
His three about me were:
1. Because you're Jen.
2. Because you've done really cool things.
3. Because you look at things that can't be changed, then change them anyway.
If this happens to be one of the rare days you stop in D, see how much I miss having you around?
So ends the Tiny trip down the Stampede memory lane.
Now, because I cannot distract myself any longer, I must go work out the fees based on unit factor for our meeting tomorrow night.
I do have one hockey related comment though. T1 observed this morning that "We kicked your ass last night, didn't we?" Can anyone honestly believe that winning the game by scoring the only goal one minute before the first OT ends can be truthfully classified as ass-kicking?
I think not.
Stampeding Boys
While two IT people do pointless things to my computer by remote access and I must sit here and watch, I've plugged in the laptop to amuse myself (and bore you).Being told that I've got to arrange Stampede this year has apparantly shoved my memory banks into complete overload. Either that or the sheer terror such a task invokes has shut down the thinking part of my brain and now only the past is fully accessible. So, here's a couple past Stampede people that have come up in the last 24 hours....
Considering that I'm not playing the archive game, I can't refer you back to the brief story about TomThatTicked but I think there are just some people in life that you run into every few years and can pretty much count on being a coincidental part of your life forever.
I met Tom within the first two weeks he moved here from the East Coast about 4 years ago. Then I ran into him again 2 years ago (whereupon it turned out he was working at Brad's company and was brought along to the function by aforementioned Brad) and then again yesterday. I have his card now and briefly thought about calling but I'm pretty sure there was some sort of compelling reason it didn't work out. (compelling reason - probably me).
Although, to be fairer to myself and closer to the truth he's not one of those people I immediately clicked with nor who really gets my sense of humor and even thinking about going through it all again exhausts me. What's the point? What a bad attitude that is. *whew*
I did forget to listen for the ticking though. Damn, that's gonna bug me.
Then I dreamt last night about Tony (of the 'father who was a Gideon - take the stolen bible back' story).
At first I thought it was TE when I woke up as they are similar in body type and looks but then I remembered him saying my name (in the dream) in that funny New Zealand accented way that only Phil has ever been able to duplicate. It sounded like "Gin-i-fah". Still makes me smile, that. Sometimes I call Phil and ask her to say it, just because.
Tony and I used to work in adjacent offices about five and a half years ago but he always looked so bitter and a bit like he'd been run over by a truck every morning I never actually spoke to him or even knew his name until one night during the Stampede. He recognized me in the bar and one of those long arms reached across his table and hauled me around. We ended up in some strange conversation of which I understood maybe 5% of - he being quite drunk and well, accented - while young girls clustered about and glared at me, during which I was positive he told me his name was "Tiny". It took about a week of me insisting to people at the office that we worked with some guy named 'Tiny' (since I'd gotten him to repeat it a bunch of times to be sure) that anyone bothered to tell me I was just an idiot. It was the bloody accent, you see. Australian being familiar but New Zealand'ish (or whatever) at that point being pretty new to me. Takes a while to train the ear, I think.
He and I spent pretty much every spare daytime (and a lot of the evenings in the pub) moment together from that point forward and I miss the endless witty email banter. It didn't take long for me to figure out why he looked like he'd been run over by a truck after we went out one night and he slept at my apartment. He just got up in the morning and went to work. Still wearing the same clothes, didn't brush his teeth, hair poking up all over. And as endearing as that sounds (or doesn't) it explained a lot. Even though he was working I think he figured he was on a permanent vacation. For all I know, he still is. Never struck me as a fella with a plan, that Tiny.
Every time I see the cd I have of BenFoldsFive, I laugh. He would periodically insist that he was leaving town and then....not. Phil finally brought in the cd and played this song for everyone. I don't remember him being too impressed by that, but by then he wasn't impressed by too much anymore, nor we with him. He really should have left earlier than he did.
sing us a song
just in case, by tomorrow
it happens - he's gone.
For two weeks and seven days
our fair foreign friend
I have this feeling
we might never see Steven again.
But we thought he was gone
but he's come back again
last week it was funny
and now the joke's wearing thin
'Cause everyone knows now
that every night now will be Steven's... last night in town
I imagine there's someone we used to work with who knows where he is now but the last email I got from him was a couple of years ago and he was still travelling - out in London then. It was a bit of a strange email, strange in a way I can't describe really without going into the myriad reasons relating to things that didn't happen so long ago. There was never anything more than an immediate and utterly-comfortable-easiness between us - instant fans of each other - that one rarely comes across in this life, although it has occurred to me many times since that both of us had some sort of different agenda that never quite made it out into the open. His last email was pretty pointed about things that should have been said before he left and a willingness to start back at square one and I think I replied to it but .... time moves on..
But there, out of three men, are two people I felt that sort of instant easiness around and regardless of what happened then or since, are people I will always wish had been around a little longer. It's too rare of a gift to ever wish away.
eek! IT is finished not solving anything with my computer and so I must return to work.
But not before roundly cursing PB for his CHAP-POST and then myself as I've just noticed I've spilled coffee on my pants.
Monday, May 03, 2004
WHAT time is it? hey, is that Shanahan?
I'm very tired. Rambly post. You've been warned.It was a long long long day. Apart from not getting more than ohh, an hour of sleep at a time all night (achy knees, which means it's going to rain sometime in the next 48) and being at the meeting at 7:30, I'm not so sure of the intelligence of locking one tired woman in a room with 7 men all day. Not that I don't love them and the Texan "YA'LL" but I think they mood swing more than I do.
And I swear I did not do this on purpose but our conference room was in the same hotel as the Detroit Redwings. I couldn't have planned it better if I tried. Cause, the boys came in and got me when Shanahan came out. Which was cool, since I've turned down every other opportunity to meet him in the last five years. Long story and one I'm too tired to tell right now.
DB's comment last week regarding the way NHL players all dress like private school brats was particularly amusing today. Brendan was wearing gray dress pants and a dark blue blazer. But, gee, so cute. Just needed a little beanie.
I'd forgotten how much he looks like WT. Or WT looks like him. Which may have been partly why I was with WT in the first place. But you won't know about that unless you were around in December for my description of the '12 Hours of Christmas'. Sorry.
Made my day, marred only briefly when T2 insisted on telling everyone at dinner I was throwing lingerie until they tackled me. Smartass.
One sort of tacky thing though, the concierge was wearing a Flames jersey. Okay, it's an expensive hotel so I would think in the first place that would be sort of out. But to wear it when you're concierge at the hotel where the opposing team is staying? I find that pretty tacky. And not very polite.
And about as welcoming as the stupid woman who called into the radio station this morning all proud of herself that they saw some of the players on a patio last night so she drove endlessly around the block whilst she and her young son yelled derogatory things at the Detroit players as they ate dinner. Apart from all the nasty things I find wrong with that, the thing I find most offensive is what she's teaching her son. It's only a fucking game. Get over yourself.
If I hadn't of had to be at the meeting, I would have called in myself with a few choice 'trailer park trash' comments.
Catering choices went over very very well. And dinner rocked. The cat seems quite pleased that I smell like calamari, mussels and king crab. In fact, I think he ate my pinky but I'm too afraid to look.
No alligator, though. They got rid of it cause no one ordered it. That makes me sad.
And does it embarrass me that T2 kept insisting to the waitress and everyone else that he would be lost without me? A little. I guess they call that 'job security'.
I also found out today that I have to plan Stampede, as well as the Christmas party. Oh, joy.
But, I came home to my less irritating new contacts in the mail - even the gray ones. Cause I always wanted to have gray eyes. Can't tell you how they look though, because my eyes are already killing me from today.
And now, I go to sleep the sleep of the well-deserved. Cause I refuse to jinx the game by watching it. 'night.
Sunday, May 02, 2004
0-freaking-early hours
I just realized that I had to time-call a cab, since I've got all the materials and the laptop and the LCD projector. gahh. There is so no way I'm hauling that stuff down to ritzy-ritz hotel meeting room for 7:30 in the morning. I'm not normally even getting out of bed at that point. Especially on a Monday.But then I remembered that I picked all the food. yay. And, after the meeting we're taking out most of the office for dinner at Bookers. Which means.... one of my favorite things. Alligator. But that's Ontario's fault. Or R's fault. Although, it may have been K's fault. Maybe it doesn't even matter. Cause I love that alligator.
I could gain a couple pounds tomorrow.
more syrup honey?
I'm sorry, but this just cracked me up. Go here.I ended up at work way earlier than I thought I would, so I'm home again, just kind of screwing about in here, while Cabot sleeps off his catnip high.
I've added some of those things I think of as writey-bits to the Tombs (although not that last one, I started it a long time ago re: Tony:there and I'm still sort of annoyed by it, as relevant as it felt yesterday), since I'm being kind of a hag about the archives. That may change depending on well... if I told you then it wouldn't be fair, would it? Suffice it to say: lots of people in the last week, MST, no comments. Of course, besides Fatboy and TE, cause I already know that. It's rude to come by and never ever comment. It's like blog-etiquette, kids. So, I'm just keeping the past, in the past.
The internet is kind of mi casa, su casa except when it's not.
Things will get back to normal, sooner or later. Bah, who am I kidding? There's no normal here.
Isn't that the whole point of a 'journal'? The place where you get to be the weird twitchy stalker stream of consciousness type abnormal? And, just for the record, I was not in Hollywood last week. Or the week before that. And I look nothing like that ident-i-kit poster.
Oh, and a Happy Birthday to D. I'da called, but I forgot until today, and it's just no good the day AFTER.
lyric at post:
..and if your way should falter, along this stony path,
it's just a moment, this time will pass..color>
Saturday, May 01, 2004
The Search - A Conversation
There were words that needed to be spoken,That needed to see the light of day.
What were those words?
You work so hard to orchestrate your life,
You work so hard to fit all the pieces together..
Caught up in an endless puzzle you must master.
But you fail to understand the reason for your need to do so.
Life is not simply form,
Life is feeling, too.
I feel..
Sometimes I think, too much,
Too much of the inconsequential things..
At the wrong time, in the wrong place.
You govern.
You govern your work, your friends, your world, your life.
You organize.
You act
And you react
But you do not find what you need to see.
I try..
The heart of magic lies in feeling..
Life is born of feeling
And the magic comes forth from life.
How can you understand either life or magic if you do not allow yourself to feel?
I want..
You search for..
I wish..
But how can you recognize it when you fail to understand what it is?
You search with your eyes for something they cannot see.
You search with your senses for something they cannot touch.
You must search instead with your heart.
Try
And then tell me what you find..
But I cannot tell you what I've found
For now, only one will have to be enough
zzzzz
Man, this cat sleeps a lot. I can't get him to play, all the toys scare the crap out of him. Who knew when I was spending money on fluffy cat toys that he needs therapy? Maybe we could go together. And I think his cold has moved into his ear. When he shakes his head, his ear makes disgusting *gish* sounds.He is wherever I am. Usually right on top of me. I sit and stare at his thumbs, absolutely fascinated.
I also seem to be quite bored. I finished one book today and have started on another, talked to T2, bailed out of Spirits of the West and Saturday night TV is utter shite. Which, frankly, in a weekend of beating myself up, is just one more thing I get to be mad at myself for. I don't even care that TV programming isn't my fault, and in fact, has absolutely nothing to do with me. Trust me, somehow, today, it is. I'm good like that. Feel free to leave things that you thought were your fault in the comments and I will shoulder the blame for the rest of the weekend. Consider it a gift. Cheaper by the dozen.
Going into work tomorrow to take care of the final bits for the off-site on Monday and I was informed that this year I have to arrange the Christmas party. Which I do not want to do. But which I will have to start figuring out post-haste before everything gets all booked up.
ie: I'm not around tomorrow and I'll be fulfilling workly duties until late Monday. So, see ya.
and a good morning to you, too
In the nightmare, she faced eternity somehow. An endless, hopelessness of always. In the nightmare she saw forever. It's form she couldn't really describe, but not monsters with fangs or men with guns, not rape or lead-footed fleeing.It was nothing that she could wake from and know it wasn't real and that she was still safe, still human.
No, this nightmare showed her something so real, so awful that her sleeping body jumped and ran before she fully came to. The nightmare showed her Death, Eternity. The nothingness of forever. Her aloneness in the Universe.
And so while she slept she ran from it, and when she woke her brain mercifully shaded the whole vision. She remembered only a gagging, crippling terror; never its form, never its depth.
