Please Let Go.

Nonsense.

I am Charlie.

Charlie I am. I do not like green eggs and ham. Ham and green cheese I like if you please, but nonetheless Charlie I am.

In the midst of all this, I feel powerless and revolted. I feel like telling everyone that this is not the human way. This is not what we were meant to do, to be, to say. I feel I would not be heard the way I want to be heard. I've heard so many disturbing things in the past 48 hours...I have heard, My Lovelies, so many hateful things. Where are we going? What are we becoming?

Where is this freedom of expression we value and cherish? I know that it is not shared by all beliefs, but should we be bashed and hurt and killed because of it? Should one's religion be powerful enough to obliterate and shadow all others? Is this what we have become? Sadly, glass-half-emptily, apparently, this is where we are at. I weep. I weep and I hope this is not where we end an all evil begins.

I am upset. My heart weeps.

Je suis Charlie.

I saw this great comic on Twitter. Jesus, Moses and Mahomet, sitting in lawn chairs side by side, cigars and wine glasses in hand for some, staring at a bomb exploding in the distance, one of them saying: "Wait - haven't we all taught them the same message?" and the two other agreeing whole-heartedly.

What hurt a lot was one of my friends posting on Facebook "Je ne suis pas Charlie". Saying that we should not show solidarity to something we are not a part of. That, my Lovelies, truly made me sad.

Walking backwards, looking ahead.

Well, hello, you Sweaty Horde of Screaming Fainting Groupies, throwing your panties at me like Tom Jones fans. All two of you. Hello, hello. Have a seat. Here, have some tea. Oh - oh...here are your panties back. I have my own, thank you.

First things first. I am very sad and offer a profound salute to my favorite blogger Cat of all time, the beloved Estorbo, who passed away on November 16th last. This rooftop garden cat made me laugh and cry. The news of his passing sent shivers up and down my spine and rendered me speechless. Although I never met Don Estorbo, I felt he was part of my life, because one of my blogger friends, my precious B, is his aunt-in-law. I weep wih her and Estorbo's loving Wooman and Smoothman as we say goodbye to the gorgeousest, magnificientest, larger-than life plus attachant des Blag Cad. Tu nous manques, Storbito. Dayeeen, dayoud. I wish I had a more fitting tribute. Eep. Eeeeeep.

Click here or on Estorbo in the menu on the left, under 'Mademoiselle follows', to get a glimpse into this matou majestueux's world, translated by Marie, the Wooman.

So - I'm not going to explain my absence from this creative writing venture which is my blog. A dear friend told me to come back, so here I am. Turns out I needed this, and my friend did not even know it. I will not call this divine intervention, as God and I have had our differences in the past (believe it or not, we once were buddies, looooong ago) and I don't agree with His divine design. But that's okay, we're still sorta buddies and leave each other alone. Although we speak through mediators occasionally. Anyhoo.

Actually, I've changed my mind about the explanation. I won't bore you with the whole shebang - here's the abstract (you can skip this paragraph altogether if you so desire - it's boring shit anyway...oh - and you can skip paragraph six as well, while we're at it).

So. I was let go in the Spring, left to fall flat on my back from a metaphorical fifty-story building, still gazing lovingly into the bottomless-pool-eyes of the man who doesn't love me anymore as I plummeted to the ground smiling. And I am still reeling, months later, from the shock. I feel broken. I probably am not. The silver lining in all this: I've seen in the far distance, beyond the mountains and the canyons. There seem to be tiny flashes of some kind of light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, but I am still searching my pockets for the map and my flashlight. I'll get there eventually. But for now, these are dark times. There. All is said. Now - on to other things.

It's Saturday. I am sitting uncomfortably at the kitchen table, the laptop is too high and my chairs are hard and offer no support whatsoever. Let me get the ergonomic chair. Hang on. Ah - much better. 

Olive (my seven-month old puppy, seen below) is circling around the apartment, looking to destroy things and generally being unpleasant because I am not completely paying attention to her. She's a baby, she requires attention and caring and constant supervision and care. I am not an adequate parent/master/pack leader for this adorable, demanding, cuddly demon-child. I am a cat person. But that's another ball o'wax altogether... 

I am your greedy demon-child. Care for me. I am the cutest ever. Look.

Christmas music is playing, and I'm even having the customary Saturday afternoon glass of wine, to get the creative juices flowing. My universe-renowned cretons are cooking on the stove top, it smells really, really yummy in here. I've pulled out the paint chest from one of the seven dwarf-doors in my tiny apartment. Quick note: these doors baffle and amaze me. These doors, which are about four feet high, open to reveal 'compartments' that line the walls, like hidden passageways. If you are four feet tall or smaller and less than two feet wide, you can actually walk from one corner of the kitchen to another between the walls unharmed. Pretty nifty storage. There are three dwarf-doors in the kitchen, one in the bedroom, two in the living room and one in the bathroom. I've been playing with the idea of making door signs and postboxes for each of them. But anyway. I'm trying to keep a grip, here. 

I bought supplies at Michaels two weeks ago, to make Squibbit plant companions. Here's the 1-inch version, made a few years back:

Now - this one, he's sideways, so you can't really see him. But basically, they are my creation, although full credit for the name is due with much reverence to K, my artisty, loopy lovey friend who lives waaaaay to far in Toronto. I miss her.

Squibbits, you should know, live in nature, generally. At least that's what I sense. Don't worry - I'm not off my rocker, they don't actually talk to me and I don't see them hopping around the house with their skinny limbs of wire and pearl-tipped antennae. I've still got a grip on reality. Sort of ;) These little guys have been with me ever since, about ten years back, they suddenly appeared out of the tip of my markers as K and I were doodling one evening. 

I didn't quite know what was happening - they were hanging off a clothesline, upside-down in some cases, and they were just staring back at me, completely innocent, harmless, and somehow, somehow...deeply connected to my very core. They are part of my life, I draw them everywhere, and they are copyright, because I am afraid someone will steal them. Just putting a picture up here makes me all tingly and stressed out. At least I've got the legal disclaimer at the left of this window. Look - seriously, whoever you are - they are our Squibbits, mine and K's, and they are protected by law. Back off with your filthy black stealing hands, you stealer thief burglar.

This one, above, sideways, is a bit dusty. He lives in one of the plants at my sister's, two and a half hours away. His big brother, to be adopted at Christmas this year, is two inches across. Bigger. Since I'm kinda broke, I've decided to make gifts instead of buying them. So everyone in the family will be getting Squibbit plant companions this year. I'll even make one for myself.

I'll be taking pictures of the progress in making the Squibbits. I'll post them later.

A quick hello and big hug to my life-long friend who made me come back here. You know who you are, you Home Depot card, Swedish-talking, Shakespeare-quoting being. Thank you, this feels good. And thank you for bearing with me through my on-again, off-again blogging. Would you like a Squibbit for your plants?

A Different View From Down Here.

I am crouching under the leaves of a lush, bright-green fern, somewhere in the middle of a forest, east of here. My fingers are firmly planted in the moss and the soil beneath me. I can smell the sickly-sweet decaying leaves, the fresh scent of green living things around, the rain coming in a few minutes. She also senses all these things, albeit very differently. She scoots over closer, leans her rounded shape into the curve of my back. I've removed the saddle for now, it's starting to chap her sides, and I have not yet found enough leather to make another one. I think I'll have to ride bareback for a few weeks, until we return to the scrapyard. We've been tending things in this neck of the woods for a few days now - I can't wait to get back home. We're hunched low - someone has heard us, and we do not wish to be seen. We were stuck in the crevice under the bark of the white birch in the middle of the wheat field for hours - someone is stalking us. And we are usually the stalkers.

The wood piles are high and airing out, the barrels are in place, and we should reap most of the silk we need before the frost hits. Fall is always this busy. We must make rounds, make sure everyone's tucked in and has everything they need. Our allies have grown loyal over the years, and even though they sometimes grunt and protest for show, they are steadfast. When we gather around the flicker of the autumn flames, spirits are high and we share smiles, knowing that our mission is accomplished.

I can't wait to get back home. When I do, I'll have to go through the usual pains, turning back, towering over her, and treading lightly. She will return to the palace I have built for her beneath the floorboards, with her brethren, and I will go back to the oven, the yarn, the soapy water and the warmth of my husband's arms.

I am the tiny Queen of this Land. She is my Ant.

Important note: I have borrowed these pictures from various corners of the web, and have not properly credited their owners. I will fix this. In the meantime, thank you for your images, they are amazing and beautiful.

Embers.

In rougher times, a long while ago, My Crunchy Lovelies, I used to display an impressive array of self-defense mechanisms, sobbing episodes taking place at completely inappropriate times, and a plethora of other self-deprecating, worrisome behavior. I whined about wanting to be "free". I was unsatisfied. I wanted easy, fast, light and satisfying solutions to big problems. I was hurt, and could not emerge from my cloud of self-deprecation. I was held back. I was not in control. Thank the Pixies, there were no voices in my head (unlike today, mind you, ahem), and I was not under any kind of psychiatric supervision (nor am I today, ahem).

And now? Well! I realized something today at lunch, while eating. Lots of thing happen while you eat. I usually think. If I'm not eating alone, I attempt some form of thinking process, but listen in on my lunchmates' conversations, occasionally pitching in just to interact and be polite. It usually works. Anyway, I realized something today. It seems small, maybe, but it's a really happy realization: I am happier now!

Not to sound corny or anything, but good things DO happen. I doubted that for the longest time. I now sit in my fluffy pink cloud of freedom which smells of vanilla and feels like cotton candy, and make projects which, I hope, will come to fruition. In retrospect, a seemingly unexpected move was the best thing I've ever done. For myself. Don't get me wrong: there are still some not-so-good days, and - yes - tears sometimes, but they weigh the normal weight of emotion: not the amplified, exagerated emotional pattern I used to relish in.

So, I declare to you, oh my Tender Fluffy Numerous Readers: mission accomplished! And here the crowd roars with pleasure, happiness, has goosebumps, and claps energetically.

Thank you. *bow*

On Wondering Why.

I have been around the block too many times, at 35, to expect anything. I should know by now that when you have expectations, they are usually shattered. Not to be pessimistic, or anything.

But this time, I am hoping things will be different. I am trying to be free, to be happy, and to accept that not everybody is at the exact same spot in ‘Being’ as I am. It still hurts, though, when the person you thought was rocking your world is apparently not doing that intently or with purpose at all. What they are doing, though, is carelessly wafting through life. They have chosen (by their own admittance) to not make choices in life. They have chosen not to commit. You like their bohemian lifestyle, their carelessness. You like that they get up to go get chocolatines on Saturday morning, that they make chocolate coffee for you when you are still in bed and that their restaurant-owning neighbours have soup delivered to your door for lunch.

 

Your choice (and between the lines, mine, oh My Loverly Loverlings): to play along or to be stuck once again expecting something you feel you won’t be getting soon?  Argh. To be 20 again, and to not care about these things.

On Water Expeditions and Counting Birds.

After the umpteenth hiatus in my blogging life, here I am. I know you've missed me, I have missed you too...

So...let’s see. Oh! I went on a cruise to the Caribbean! It was magnificent. It was very touristy, but still magnificent. For my first trip as an adult, it was totally worth the investment! Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a Japanese/Hawaiian/Moroccan getaway...Oh Future! What holdeth thee in store for me?

I was with a very cool friend who had tastes similar to mine, and I’d go on a trip with her anytime, anywhere. You know, when it’s uncomplicated? Just like that. But that was SO long ago! Now, alas, autumn is upon us, my Cute Little Fall Blossoms, and I fear summer has taken its final bow, at least until next year. It was a good summer, though. But this fall promises to be even better.

There is this new thing showing its face, unexpectedly but with astounding great timing. I don’t know where it’s going. All I know is that it feels good. It speaks to me in a cryptic, complicated language unknown to me thus far. It pays for dinner when I extend the invitation, buys me some wine, and tells me my vanilla perfume is intoxicating. It counts birds with me when we are trying to fall asleep (sheep are too common). It seduces me via text messages. I am smitten. I am cautious, but smitten. We’ll see. Good night, Loverlies.

Melancholy Mademoiselle

This week, my SuperSweets, I feel lonely.

I  have no clue as to why I feel this way, I just do. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the awesome weekend I had with a friend. Maybe the introspection is getting to me. Today, I had a sudden rush of adrenaline when I actually considered dishing out a lot of money to go on a cruise to the eastern Caribbean with a friend. In two weeks. It's a great spur-of-the-moment, fuck-it-if-I-don't-have-a-passport-I-can-get-one-really-quick instinct. I walked into my boss's office with a sense of elation and my heart was racing as I listened to him tell me it was my decision. There's a little voice in my head which is telling me not to do it. I have, as I think I've mentioned before, always followed my instincts. But the idea is nagging at me with all its might. It's screaming and kicking. I think I just need a change of scenery. I want to get the hell out, somewhere unknown. I am *this* close to booking a freaking swanky hotel for the weekend and ordering everything off the menu, but that would be a waste of money.


I have unfinished business here. I have things that are on standby. To quote Dolly Parton, of all people, and according to my iPhone's Fortune Cookie app, " to get the rainbow, you must suffer through the rain"...or something like that, anyway. I want the rainbow now. Bad Mademoiselle. Bad, Fool Mademoiselle.

“There is no coming to consciousness without pain.”

- Carl Jung

Funny thing is, no specific event triggered this mood. It just fell on me, like rain. Like a shroud. I tried to shake it off. I put on my happy cheery face whenever people are around. But melancholy creeps out. It never stays under the plastic tarp you try to apply over it. So the moment I am alone, it seeps out of the walls, the furniture, my pores, it seeps out and takes over. I cannot wait for this episode to be over. I feel like a fraud. It'll pass, just like the rest.

The Day After Friday the 13th.

Oh you Tender, Nougat-Filled Crunchies,

Hello. How’ve you been? Good. Me too.

It’s Saturday, the day after Friday, which yesterday happened to be the 13th of the month. No big deal, it’s just cool to acknowledge that it was Friday the 13^th yesterday. On to the meat.

Last night, after having gone out to socialize with a few friends (which was really cool, no matter how low-profile it was), I sat at home watching an episode of Alias. While I was doing that, an idea occurred to me. I have this list, you see. Those of you who know me best know that I keep lists. The lists all have awesome, hip titles such as “Things to do”, “Albums to buy”, “Things to watch/cook/ignore/ponder”. Okay, these last four I just made up. But I do have a To Do list. And it bores the heck out of me. I regularly want to chuck it and completely overlook the consequences that would have. So in my great tiredness-induced wisdom last night, I decided to spice things up a bit, go completely crazy, and I wrote each item of my To Do list on separate pieces of paper, so I could pick one item at random and do it first thing this morning. Theoretically, I pat myself on the back for having such a great idea. So this morning, I picked an item from the paper bag. So I allowed myself some Facebook time this morning, checked my e-mail, paid my Visa online, had two coffees, lit some candles because it’s rainy out, put on some music, pet the cats and let the dishes soak in the sink before I wash them later on today.

I hear you asking, My Sweetnesses. So what? What’s The Problem?

The Problem is - none of these items I just enumerated actually figure on my To Do list. 

That is NOT what I picked this morning from the paper bag. I am supposed to be going through the six huge plastic containers that are piled in my living room to sort my daughter’s clothes and give them away.  I can’t bring myself to do it. She died almost five years ago, and I still have not found the courage...

I’m going to go pick another item from the paper bag.

Sorry for the sad post. It’s today’s mood.

34-45

There are many reasons why I should not worry about my age. For one, I am young. I am very young, too. I’ve got at least more than half the time I’ve already spent on this earth left. I’m not quite halfway yet, but I feel I am getting close. It’s scary, but reassuring.

At this point, I should be worrying about the future, paying for my mistakes, and living unabashedly. Check, check and check.  Look forward, keep the course, and brace for the best (and worst, you never know).

So...why the fuck do I get pissed off or, at least, slightly irritated when, in an online survey for a group I belong to, I have to check the 34-45 box when asked which age bracket I am in? Damn.

Close the door, please.

In my simple yet complicated uneventful life, some things happen which I would like to redo. Things I say to people (foot in mouth situations), judgments I have passed on opinions and the opinionated, and generally, things I regret. That's normal, right? So far, so good. Life, however, my Assiduous Compadres, is not built as such. You know that. I knew that. Everybody remotely sane (hereby excluding many, many people, unfortunately) knows that.

This even applies to my crafterly pursuits, believe it or not. I'll start knitting something, carefully choosing my yarn, and I'll spend three or four weeks working on it, loving it, fondling it, and being proud of how awesome it's going to look. Generally, just so you know, I knit things which are shaped like rectangles. One morning, I will wake up, sit on the sofa, open the knitting drawer, pull out my project and start pulling on the yarn to destroy it. I am no longer satisfied, and no longer have any interest in finishing it. I feel no pain. I wind the yarn back onto its ball, and begin a new project. This may seem harsh and pointless. I understand why you may think that. At this point, the rectangle thing is probably ten or twelve inches long. But to me, this is a form of control: I decide and assume the decision. I control the outcome, and I have to power to undo something I have done. It feels good, even if sometimes it is slightly guilt-tinged and can make me wish I had spent my time on something I would actually finish. Okay - now those of you who want to hypothesize and try to apply this theorem to other things in life just to see if it works, be my guest. It works. *wink*

Today, I have things on my list. I have been putting them off for a very long time. But first, for your enjoyment, and as a sort of 'case in point' thing, here are the things which have been started and not finished.

All in all, fifteen projects which, in the last 5 years, have not been completed. Maybe I should stick to one thing at a time. I think I'm going to go start something new.

Grievances.

We have been wanting this for so long.

Sometimes, we have been patient. Sometimes not so much.
We have made sacrifices and have had to give up very, very important parts of ourselves.
These has been doubt and there has been loss.

It is happening to loved ones - we are genuinely happy for them because we truly care - they are our friends - but our inner selves, once the giddiness has subsided and the hugs are given,  glaze over, take a deep breath and ask "Why not us? If not now, when?"

Does one have to grieve endlessly? Really? Is November making this worse?

Wands at the Ready

Greetings!

This, my Avid Rabid Neglected Bunch of Followers (I give you guys way too much credit...or do I?), is my first attempt at No Draft (although you would not know this, but I do. So that is what counts, here).

You have read right: I usually write my posts in some word-processing application, then carefully read it through to make sure there are no typos, then copy/paste it into Blogger. I have been doing it this way since 2006. It has, so far, been very useful, as I sometimes start writing and suffer interruptions of some sort, which results in my hitting CTRL-S and leaving the unfinished post be for a few - ahem - days.

But - fret not! - not this time. I am writing directly into Blogger. Can you feel it? Can you feel the raw, primal and uncorrected flow? (Okay - I just erased the word 'fantasticness' which was in place of 'flow').

Enough about that. Here is the 101 on what my life has been in the past few days. I'm doing it point-form, because if I don't, your eyes will start watering, and then I could be held responsible for your visits at the optometrist, and we all know that would not be a good thing. Here we go, in a completely random procession of fascinatingness (I knew I'd get some kind of 'ness'-ending word in there somewhere...):

• I have been re-reading Harry Potter, and am currently, after a month, at Book 5, also known as The Order of the Phoenix. My desire/need for escape is overwhelming, and the experiment is proving useful. As soon as I crack the book open, I instantly tumble into Harry's world and forget everything else that may be going on.
• I have been feeling rather blue, truth be told, for the past two days, and cannot identify the reason why. Let's put it, for the time being, into the X-Files category. I am sure things will clear up shortly. My life is good, I am blessed with incredible friends and a great, loving family, and I have no reason to complain. (This Little Devil on my right shoulder was hissing into my ear, telling me I am surrounded by depressing, sad events, but I just flicked it into the candle.)
• I went to lunch with a great friend of mine today, whom I am convinced is a Pixie of some sort (although she is a lawyer in the real world) and had a glass of wine with the chicken. Then I went back to work. Then I left for home at 5:30 and forgot my keys on my desk, so rode the bus all the way to The Man's office to get his keys. It took two hours.
• I just finished a Martini.
• I am wondering whether it would be a really Evil thing to have another Martini. I had a shitty day, but I am trying to be really positive about it, so I think I deserve the finer things in life. I think I am thinking this through too much. I'll be right back.

Ahhhh...How liberating! The Magic Wand of writing (if this can be considered as such) has worked its magic again in my soul. I just needed to touch base. Forgive my whining, and thanks for tuning in. See you soon!

Obviously.

It's been a while. Hello. I am still here.

I've been up since 4:30 this morning. I don't like it. My new mattress is calling me, but I know for a fact I'm just going to end up lying there, wiggling, and I'll wake the man up. I know, because I did this from 4:30 to 6:00.

Then I got hungry.

So I got up, tiptoed out of the room, put my penguins PJs on, and turned a few lights on.
I had a bowl of cereal and typed random things into google and youtube.

I learned how to fuse plastic bags to make a messenger bag.
I learned how to apply makeup on my eyes from a charming girl with a great Scottish accent.
I squinted, trying to fix the out-of-focus picture as a weird-looking couple wanted to teach me how to knit mittens. (I never actually got to the knitting part, because the guy was too creepy. And the picture was out of focus.)
I pet the cat.
I tried to come up with ideas for my first watercolour. I got a watercolour kit for my birthday.

I am trying to be interested in something today, so I'll try a bunch of different things until I can stick to one and do it for a while. It's one of those days. Ugh.

I've pretty much been living under my rock, keeping to myself. Finding people annoying or weird or rude. Depends on the day.

Are you still there?

Houston, We Are Go.

For those of you who are still following, I have not tried to crochet again. Just so you know. I’m looking for a specific book to help me out, which is probably still in a box. I’ll find it. When I do, I’ll try to crochet again. But for now, well, I’ll do other things.

I find myself at a crossroads of some sort. In fact, I sit there most of the day. I’m able to function in my everyday activities and go through the motions of work and food-making and sleeping and talking to other Human Beings, but in my mind, I am sitting on a gravel road, in the middle of nowhere. And I’m not even scared.

The peculiar thing about this place, if you’ll bear with me, is the incredibly blue sky and – more importantly - the grass. It’s so lush and green! I’m wearing my jeans, the ones I just bought that fit really nicely. And I’m wearing my sister’s t-shirt. I don’t know why, I just like it. So I’m wearing it. The blue one that says Valiquette. I am alone. Somewhere close to me, behind me, there is the sound of running water, a creek, I think.

I am sitting right in the middle of the gravel road, with my legs straight in front of me, slightly apart. My feet are bare. I am leaning on my arms behind me. My palms, flat on the road, are starting to hurt because of the small pebbles digging into them. But I stay. There is a long, thin shadow in front of me, and my eyes run the length of it very often. Over and over again. I do not know where the shadow originates from. Why is it there? What does it mean? Should I try to get there?

Today, I keep my eyes open a little longer. I feel rested, and I am able to follow the shadow for a longer period of time. It’s really, really long. I feel like I’m sitting at one end of Space, looking at the other end. It stretches right to the limit of what I can physically see, somehow. And at the end, I can see there is something, but I can’t make it out. I’ve been working on trying to stand up to get closer to it faster. It takes a long time just to think of getting up: my will is somehow warped. I decide to crawl. Getting up seems impossible at this time. Maybe somewhere along the way, I’ll find something to help me up. I can’t see anything from here – the landscape is perfectly flat and featureless. But you never know.

I’ve taken the habit of lining up the thin shadow to the side of my leg and I push myself forward with my hands toward its starting point, slowly. I will not lose my direction this way. It shifts, swerves, curbs the light and plays tricks on my eyes. So I’ve tamed it and it seems to be behaving now. Every time I come back, I sit back down and shift around until I line up the shadow perfectly on the side of my right leg. It moves a couple of times, I readjust. I start pushing myself forward. I’ve ripped the bottom of my jeans, the sand is sliding in between the fabric and my skin and it’s chapped.

This time, I’ve gotten so close to the top of the shadow I can see what casts it.

There is a post. It bears many signs, which point in different directions. I can’t read any of them, because they are all written in a language I do not recognize, with symbols I have never seen. All but one. I wish I could get up to make sure what I see is right: I can barely read it, for the sun is my eyes. But when I narrow my eyes and concentrate, I can make it out.

This Way.

The Furious Five.

Let me begin by saying something very important: I have not written in a while and I am truly sorry, Numerous Readers. I know you need your fix once in a while. If you’ve been re-reading my previous posts to make the withdrawal symptoms go away, I am also sorry, and hope you instantly start feeling better. Nnnnow. Now.

I have no excuse for not writing, other than the one where I don’t have a computer to myself anymore. So, yeah. I have to share with my gaming man. It’s okay, but I don’t get to set the mood to write. I need my music, my desk, my environment. And now, I do it right here, in the living room, in full view of my man. He calls me his blogging master sexy goddess of love. So it’s not all bad - I will stop complaining now. Some people don’t even have computers. Some people don’t even have loving, caring, handsome mates to call them blogging master sexy goddess of love. Goddamn, I’m lucky.

Okay, Monkeys. Here we go.

Today’s feature: “Five Things That Are True & Make Me Go Eech”.

Item Number One: I’ve had an irritating/sad/tiring week but I’ll survive.
Regarding Item One, I’ll blame myself. Maybe it’s because I have no patience this close to my holidays. Also, I have about one-third of the time I need to do everything that needs to be done before I leave for two weeks. Wait – did that sentence make sense? You know what I mean.

Item Number Two: I have nothing to write about right now.
I’m just sitting here typing, trying to avoid turning around to watch the TV, because my man is presently watching the most annoying show ever invented. I used to watch this show out of curiosity, and now it’s morbid curiosity that makes me turn around and go awww damn. Item Number Two was resolved three minutes ago: I fished my i-pod out of my bag and am currently grooving to my tunes. I don’t have to hear the inane chattering. Blah! In your face, inane chattering! Take that!

Item Number Three: For the fifth month in a row, I am not pregnant yet.
I got crushed this week, because. Item Number Three crushes me every time I get my period. Another month without a shrimp in my belly. Another month to wait. I need to calm the fuck down. Oops, I said fuck. Oops, I said fuck again. I could go on forever. Seriously, though, I am in some sort of hellish paradox where I am relaxed and happy and I’m enjoying the perks of trying to have a baby, but I’m also waking up every morning hoping I’m pregnant. I’m sure some people would recommend therapy. I am writing my own prescription on this one: calm the fuck down. Thinking about it too much apparently prevents your uterus to do its job.

Item Number Four: I don’t like my feet.
They may be the canvas for my next tattoo, maybe that’ll help. I’d have to convince my sister to get another tattoo too. We’ve had both our tattoos done at the same time. I can’t break that tradition. Is it a tradition? Does it qualify as a habit? Will our respective karmas turn sour if we don’t get tattooed at the same time? Why are marmosets so cute?

Item Number Five: One of favorite bands just cancelled their concert.
…which I was supposed to go see Sunday night for free. With my little bro and my man. Would have been magical. Sigh. Why, Little Pixies That Rule The World, why? How will you ever make it up to us? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity!

That makes five. Eech.

My man asked me to tell you that he has a hole in his sock. In the right one. And, technically, he has two holes in his sock, but don’t tell him I told you. And now, a marmoset. Because it's so damn cute.

"You like my stick? It's my stick. It's not your stick cause it's mine. Mineminemine. Mmmmine."

Old Blog + New Blog = Retrospective

Surpriiiiise! This is a bilingual thing I'm doing. Ha! Yeah that's right.
I knew I'd get you someday. And that day, my friends, is today.

Before we move on to other things, I must mention my sadness at losing someone I didn't even know yet. I am rationalizing this right now with coldness because I am sick of crying. I know I am allowed to cry. But I've been doing it for 2 days now. I feel....dry.

Ha. That rhymes with cry. Lookadat.

I will survive. I have people around me who love me. I am choosing to be a being of light. I will not crawl into a cave and roll up into a little ball of pain. *Deep breath* Aaahhhhhh. *Stretch*. Ok. Here we go.

So as a new feature to this otherwise featureless thing I'm writing, I thought I would include in this blog entries from my first blog, which I started and maintained very unfaithfully in 2004-2005. This was in a fantastical place called Diaryland. It was not all fairies and pixies and pink marshmallow trees, nooooo. None of that. Just thousands of people, doing a writing thing. Much like Blogger. But not as cool with the templates and all that. So! Hence the title of this entry.

We are rewinding time *ooo-eee-ooo-eee-ooo* and going back to 2004. Not very interesting. But somewhat entertaining. So hang on to your berets, here's September 21, 2004:

So...hiya, world. Or whoever will read this. Or not. This is me doing something I've been wanting to do for a while: to have something I create be online. Dunno how this is going to turn out. We'll see. It's never too late. Maybe this is what I need to vent all these evil thoughts I've been having lately. God I need to eat something. Don't get me wrong, I'm not voluntarily not eating or anything. I'm just calming down from an out-of-control episode I've just had for the past...uhhhhm...4 or 5 hours. Ok. Grilled cheese sounds good.Currently listening to Dr. Greenthumb, by Cypress Hill. Very good.

Well! Phew! Not many things have changed, since that day. Let's see. I still have evil thoughts and out-of-control episodes. But I'm learning to control them, now. Okay, okay, I see where you're going - things have changed a bit. Next, I still like grilled cheese and Cypress Hill. Classics. How can you give up grilled cheese and Cypress Hill, seriously.

Okay, my readers! If you are not a figment of my imagination, I hope you enjoyed today's retrospective episode, and keep your eyes peeled for more soon. I've got better ones. And if you are a figment of my imagination, well, it's good to see you again. *Wink*

See ya.

Charogne

Bien fait. Je paie aujourd'hui pour ma négligence.
J'admets avec une grimace que je dois mieux garder l'inventaire de la nourriture qu'il y a chez moi.

Depuis hier, un curieuse odeur flotte dans l'appartement. Pas la fumée de cigarette, pas la litière du chat. Depuis hier, je me dis que je vais faire enquête. Et en entrant tout à l'heure, j'ai été littéralement assaillie par une odeur insupportable. J'ai honte de le dire, à force de chercher, j'ai pu retracer la source des effluves de charogne qui empestent l'appartement: j'ai oublié le poulet dans le tambour. Pestilence! Damnation! Horreur! La pauvre carcasse que je devais transformer en somptueux bouillon vient de passer beaucoup trop de temps sur la sécheuse, dans la pièce attenante à la cuisine. H me l'a fait remarquer, ce weekend. "Faudrait faire quelque chose avec le poulet" Et ce n'est pas tombé dans l'oreille d'une sourde. Mais j'ai...oublié. Pas fort! Cette pièce où il n'y a pas de chauffage est merveilleuse l'hiver: dépendant de la température qu'il fait dehors, c'est un réfrigérateur ou un congélateur. Excellent pour y conserver les biscuits de Noël fait à l'avance, les carrés au chocolat qu'on ne veut pas manger tout le même soir où...les poulets en attente de dépeçage. Avec le temps doux des derniers jours, ça aurait dû rester le tambour. Et pourquoi, d'abord, qu'en janvier, on goûte à deux degrés et à la pluie? Pas normal, pour ce coin de pays. Voilà, c'est le réchauffement de la planète. Ça doit être ça.

Et là, avec ma journée dans le corps, j'ai payé pour ma négligence. Je crois maintenant au karma. Non seulement est-ce qu'il aurait été suffisant que je doive ôter le couvercle de mon creuset pour jeter les restes odieux au fumet pestilent, mais il a fallu que je ne vérifie pas l'état de putréfaction de la chose. J'ai donc pensé bien faire en faisant d'une pierre deux coups. Je me suis dit qu'en vidant la poubelle de la cuisine (qui est d'ailleurs beaucoup trop grosse et qui est parfois la source d'odeurs désagréables...) je pourrais de facto faître disparaître le poulet en putréfaction. Mais voilà, les restes étaient en train de se liquéfier... J'ai donc versé par inadvertance une bonne tasse de gras et de bouillon puants sur le plancher de la cuisine. Vite! Aux toilettes jeter le reste! Il faut filtrer le mélange offensif! Il faut retenir son souffle! Devenir verte! En échapper sur ses manches de chandail pour que ça sente encore plus! Oui! Oui!

Et là, par -15 degrés, les fenêtres de l'appartement sont grandes ouvertes. Boo se demande ce qui se passe. Et mon nouveau gourami qui nageait allègrement hier encore est mort.

Quelle journée! Ça a commencé par des problèmes informatiques au travail qui m'ont bouffé la moitié de mon avant-midi. C'est à se demander pourquoi je m'occupe de l'informatique au travail. Je n'y connais rien. J'en sais un peu plus que la base. Mais pas de là à gérer la chose! J'aurais aimé pouvoir trouver une phrase, une seule, pour calmer les collègues. Mais l'irritabilité était au rendez-vous. Une chance, l'après-midi s'est bien passé, si ce n'est que du mal de tête et du dos en feu. Je ne suis pas retournée au bureau après mes quatre heures à la bibliothèque.

Qu'à cela ne tienne! Je ne laisserai pas des riens comme ça me faire une mauvaise journée, parce que ça pourrait être pire. Il faut remettre les choses en perspective. La journée n'est pas finie, par contre...il pourrait arriver d'autre chose! Nnnon! Je refuse de me laisser abattre! Il y a des gens qui vivent sans bras, sans jambes, il y a des gens qui ont perdu des êtres qu'il aiment aujourd'hui. Il y a la guerre quelque part dans le monde. Des orphelins, des veuves, des gens qui sont perdus, sans le sou, dans un pays étranger peu hospitalier. Il y a un enfant qui vient de mourir. Il y a une maman qui souffre, quelque part. Voilà. Remise en perspective efficace.

Je vais tricoter, tiens. Ne reste plus qu'à ne pas échapper de mailles...En fin de semaine, j'ai constaté que laisser des tricots en plan dans un sac de papier invitait le désastre. Surtout les griffes de Boo. J'ai donc vidé le bac Rubbermaid vert qui n'était qu'à moitié rempli dans le bureau et je me suis fait un coin pour mes réserves de laine. J'ai de beaux projets dans mon bac vert. Une couverture de bébé pour la petite chose qui grandit dans le ventre d'I. Un foulard pour D. Un foulard crocheté pour moi. Un début de courtepointe. C'est fou ce que le tricot occupe une grande place, maintenant. C'est bon contre le stress. Sauf quand on apprend à tricoter autre chose que des mailles à l'endroit et qu'on s'attaque au jersey pour la première fois. Je pensais bien perdre la tête dimanche, les mailles étaient tellement serrées! Mais j'ai persévéré, pour les cent mailles du rang, et je me suis répété mon petit mantra. C'est juste un tricot! C'est juste un tricot! Il faut le tricoter avec affection et patience, insuffler aux mailles toute la douceur dont je suis capable, c'est pour un petit bout d'amour que je vais aimer avec tout mon coeur!

J'expérimente donc une alternance jersey/point mousse avec le foulard à D et la couverture du futur petit pou (ou petite puce). Et je suis très satisfaite des résultats! Je suis si fière d'enfin conquérir ma peur du nouveau, peur de me tromper, peur de ne pas réussir. Ça fait du bien.