This might sound a little bit like complaining, but I'm smiling on the inside.

I'm sitting at the bar counter in my 'new' apartment. I've so far tried to have a shower, blow up the air mattress and plug in the fridge. Well, the fridge works. I think. The shower sort of works. After it spit out 'Vancouver water' for a few minutes, it ran to a nice lukewarm, which was ok since I was sweating like a pig from moving my stuff in and commandeering the pets. That's probably spelled wrong.

The air mattress 'looks' like it's blown up but I bet I'll wake up with my ass and shoulders on the floor tomorrow morning. This is because I didn't read the booklet of instructions that came with it. For some reason, I just think air mattresses shouldn't need instructions.

Every time I sit down in this kitchen that was built for entertaining (and one would wonder why I took this apartment), I am reminded I have no ashtrays. None. Not a knife, spoon or saucer to be had in this place. In the fridge, there are two cans of pepsi, and a frozen pizza I ambitiously bought this evening even when it was clear I was going to be eating corn chips.

Beebs loves the windows, but maybe that's just an oversight on my part because she's been locked in the car for the past 9 hours. Buckley is licking the bottom of my shoes and Marble is lying underneath what passes for the bar stool I am sitting on.

As Michael said earlier this evening, Ikea will be my new best friend. Maybe when I have money. For now, I am going to concentrate on covering the enormous windows that stare black squares of night at me, while I type this out.

I'm not in a bad mood, I'm just tired. And wondering what the fuck is up with the shower. But really, I'm sitting here kind of lonely, wondering how everyone who is not with me, is doing. Glad to be here, at last.

And wondering what's next.

American Tourister
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Alone at my mother's. The family have left for London, to spend the next week driving my brother-in-law nuts. Everyone is staying at my sister's place, poor guy.

I, on the other hand, am quietly and slowly moving to London like a displaced person. I'll spend the first night in my new apartment on an air mattress until I can afford to move my things from Sudbury. I'll probably be eating takeout on the floor, watching a movie because the cable isn't hooked up yet.

I know I'm impulsive, I don't know any other way to be. All I can do is try to make things work. I should know about jobs by the end of the week. Etc.

My mother wants to keep Marble here on the Island. I've been avoiding the idea for awhile, but it's been there in the back of my mind. Everyone will love it, except for me and Marble. He'll wait at the top of the stairs for me to come back, and I'll notice that my bed seems bigger and suddenly, a whole lot colder.

Although I'd like to say I'm the unselfish sort, and that I will please my mother with my decision in the end....we all know what's going to happen.

May not seem like a big deal in the grander scheme of things, but Marble is the secret keeper, and a huge piece of my heart. He's been constantly by my side for the past....7 years. He's my 'boy'.

ok, justification for future events over. Maybe I ought to buy one of those books on how to be a better person. Hundreds of people can't be wrong, right?


*sigh*

John
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I was on my way to Manitoulin Island a couple of days ago. I arrived safely, but about halfway I noticed that some clunking noise was driving me batty. If you're familiar with my car, then a clunking noise should be no big deal, it's hardly a surprise.

I saw that the tailpipe had dropped again (yes, I've paid to fix this before) and I was worried that the thing would go flying off on the highway and I'd be responsible for all kinds of mishap and danger on highway 400.

I decided to poke at it a bit and see how loose it was before getting back on the road. I found some kind man at a small shop would repaired it. He wouldn't let me pay him. So, I took his photo.

Unfortunately, it continually surprises me when someone helps another and expects nothing in return. It completely made my day.

I've been watching the Godfather series. I know it's a macho thing and that all guys have this innate connection with it, but I'm still having issues keeping my eyes open. So I do little things in between the action, like fold clothes, pack stuff away, and make lists of things that I have to pick up next week. Etc. Etc.

Better entries when I'm feeling a tad more inspired...

crooked mouth
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

And so goes the time when I must sort through the things I've gathered over the past 6 months and decide what to keep and what to take with me. Space is limited in my little Chevy Cav. and it looks like what I can fit in there, is what will come with me.

So far, I've got the dogs and the cat in mind for the front seat. They all just curl in amongst themselves and sleep the entire journey. My laptop goes in my carry-all. looks like it will be a fight between the cds and dvds. Blankets. Some books. I'm too old-fashioned to have an iPod, I guess.

On my way to Manitoulin Island yesterday, I noticed my muffler/tail pipe looked like it might...fall off. On the off chance that it might fall off and go careening into the traffic following me on the 400 series highway, I look for someone to telp me a soon as I find one. And I do. This nice man named John, asked me to back up my car intil his garage.

At first, I was thinking that I might have stumbled across a scary chop-em-up traveller kind of thing. But it turned out to be one of the nicest people I've met in my travels across the Province. He wouldn't let me pay him.

Been thinking about the voice on the other end of the line. The one that makes me want to open like a lily. Opening, is the hardest part. It's like a surrender.

jesus fuck, how do you stop it?
http://www.nightofthelivingdead3d.com/

(say above in Ash sort of voice from Evil Dead II....I guess only the real fans would 'get it').
*grin*

porch
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I wanted access to some of the other features of Blogger, but then lost my way when I was playing around with Flickr this afternoon. So, here is a post...frankenstiened together. Like mismatched socks.

That's a photo of my soon to be new front porch in the 'fake' South core of London, Ontario. Indiscernable from any other ancient Victorian house in Southern Ontario. It's just a couple of blocks from my old Colborne street apartment from a few years ago and the house itself is just what I like: shabby, a bit run down and comfortable. Old-fashioned crown moulding, heating vents and 14 foot ceilings. The hardwood floors have wood inlay. I know I mentioned it before, but it's those little details that sell a sucker like me every time. That, and the landlord doesn't mind that I have 1.5 active terriers (Marble is only active some of the time) that will be skittering across those floors come December 1st. At least the floors weren't refinished or anything.

Driving around all over the city today. Getting coffee, buying a new sweater because I've forgotten all of mine up North (it's not *that* warm here) and just thinking about my optionss. It's nice to have options again. Getting heated voice messages from my ex-brother-in-law regarding access to my nephews. His new wife is basically telling me to go fuck myself. Unfortunately for them, I'm an expert in preparing documents for Family court. I have so much time on my hands right now, I'll be filing those papers tomorrow.

It's some of my blood running through those kids' veins.

I'm longwinded today. I know this. I'm feeling like I'm still in Limbo and trying to figure through the fog, but at least I have some kind of flashlight now. I'm spending tons of time with my other nephew, Nicholaki. When we sit there and tap our heads together like trappist monks, I know I'm in the right place.

Stuck in suburbia-land when I stay at my older sister's house in London. I'm an anamoly when I'm outside at 8 in the evening, smoking cigarettes. Everyone eyes me like the intruder I am. It's still a bit liberating.

Gotta run. I almost feel like my old self. I've missed her.

later.

G.

It's rare, but it happens. Who can remember the month or two (three, four, five) ago when I was contemplating Plath's ingenius ideas and the guts (or enough drugs) to punch her own ticket. It feels like this morning ago, or ten years ago. Maybe tomorrow it will come back in some kind of wave, overcoming and squashing any of the good I've felt the past month, day or week. Or maybe not. Maybe it never was.

Who knows.

There is never any real point to anything. It's just the joy or the good you can feel afterwards. That's what I think, sometimes, in my more cynical moments. You think I like you, when I just like the idea of how I can possibly feel with you. That's all. Harsh, real cold, reality. It's just the kind of thing that Ophelia would have said if she lived in my time (and wasn't a fictional character), she'd be some beaten down whore working the streets of gritty, dirty Toronto, not shaking anyone's hand and always always...always sizing you up for your last dollar. But her words would have been about money, not feeling.

Sometimes, I think Hamlet really knew the score. Down to simple animalistic urges. Then, the end.

But I'm not in that wave. I'm not depressed. I'm just thinking. Thinking about Plath again, and thinking of ones. Ones. Thinking of Thalo Blue paint spreading itself over rough canvas from my sweet brushes. Is that it? The tools are more important than the end result?

Something to think about.
I pulled this off Good's journal which you can find at the link provided way below. Sometimes, it feels like the man has his fingers in my brain.

"...Sylvia: depression, romanticism. Think what you will, but it’s the same deck of cards in the end. And still we smile and swim like beleaguered salmon against the current, hopeful of never ending spring. Winter, solitude’s bedfellow, is the smartest of all the seasons, simply because it knows that it doesn’t have to produce any heat."

It was the last line that caught me. Winter is the most honest of all seasons, it can hide all of your secrets underneath the perfect, truthful blanket of white.

read the rest at:
http://www.matthewgood.org/

tiny oval shaped blue pills, sometimes pink ones that make you gain weight. But always the ones that help me sink underwater. Do you get me?

Labels: drama, Matthew Good, Sylvia Plath

I'm always attracted to A-holes (right now I am trying to change the amount of time I say a curse, I'm sorta thinking it counts when I write, too), but I don't know if she's right.

Maybe I idealize some people or the way they interact with me. Maybe I'm overly optimistic (although I can't think of anyone who would accuse me so), or naive, or thoughtless.

Maybe I'm an impossible girl. The kind that doesn't really know what she wants but figured she would know it when she saw it. Like midnight telephone calls and sweet voices of new friends. And sleeping late, in warm blankets.

Maybe, just maybe...I think these guys aren't jerks in real life. They are just jerks to me, so that makes it ok
Maybe that's what I think.

Marble
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I woke up a little while ago, decided to call a friend since we've been having problems connecting all week. I was exhausted getting back to my sister's this evening. We sat there, bleary eyed while Nickolaki ran around half-heartedly. He was tired as well. Tough work being a 1.5 year old.

Everytime I talk to this specific friend, I feel like I'm talking to someone who potentially 'gets' me. It's a nice feeling, and I'm sorry he's feeling poorly and for the weeks ahead that will be a trial, I'm sure. Makes me kind of want to scoot down there and bring him chicken soup (store bought) of course.

Because I'm implusive like that. I make phone calls at weird hours of the night, and I ask impossible questions about impossible things. I am an impossibe girl.

things that come back to haunt you:
I don't know what the defect is, but I do know what the cost is. I get my fingers caught in the door again, when I think it's been opened for me. And that the thing that I thought would be the on the other side, spit and scowled at me....after inviting me in.

That hurt my feeings today.

I'm still in London, will be until Wednesday morning. And I miss the only one on this planet that truly loves me......

^
|
|
Marble

school
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Is what I've found here in London. Two job interviews, and an apartment I kind of knew I wanted when I saw the front porch. It will be sweet tea heaven in the steamy summer nights to come. Just small/big enough for me and the pets. Beebs will love the huge windows. Buckley will love that room to run around in. Marble will love being with me. He is a part of my heart.

There is definitely the feeling of honeymoon-ness now that I'm driving along the streets and going to all my favourite stores. I haven't had a chance to go to the park, I wanted to save it for when I had the dogs with me. Marble will be happy to walk there again.

Huge ceilings and a gigantic front porch(it was THE selling feature), two small bedrooms, big kitchen (which I don't really need) and a liveabe bathroom. But the light, the porch, the windows, the charming little bits like plaster walls and hardwood floors, and doors that creak when I open them. MMMMM

ok, bed time. Early morning and Its already midnight. So....nightie, little hearts

It's 5:20 in the morning. I'm supposed to be waking up at 6 to get ready for my London trip, packing what I didn't pack last night, and whatever else I didn't last night, which is pretty much everything (camera, clothes, etc).

At 3, I decided I wasn't going to get any sleep and so I got up and puttered around the house. Then I got the weird idea of calling the only man who ever really broke my heart. Chris. I know. It's weird. For the past three years, I didn't care if he had lived or died.

So, at 3:30 I called. I went outside, took a deep breath, lit a cigarette and dialed. We just got off the phone now. At one point, my mother had woken up and I handed the phone to her. The sound of her voice talking to him, she sounded all happy and like her old self again.

We just slipped into some kind of easy conversation as though we hadn't had a messy end to a ruinous relationship that lasted for nearly ten years. He's married now. Seems reasonably happy. And I feel ok about that. Ok, I don't really because it's hard for me to accept that someone I loved for so long, is reasionably happy with just anyone else. It's just...weird to me. But I'm trying to see past that and be an adult, for god's sake. We're old now. I'm 30, he's.....33, I think. So adult-like is how we should be.

Well, he was anyway. There was no hostility in his voice. Our dog is getting old, he had to put down the other one. They have no children. I'm where I am, he is still were he is.

It's just so surreal to hear his voice again.

One of the things that annoys me the most about myself is that none of my ideas feel like my own. I'm inspired by music, other's artwork, a conversation, a long drive in the middle of Northern Ontario with music blaring and cigarettes burning. Living inside my head is so murky, most of the time.

Yes, back to topic. That's the thing that annoys me the most. I feel unoriginal, pretty much all of the time. Except maybe when I'm painting.

New topic. I took the boys for a ride today, Marble found a piece of forgotten rawhide in the car and spent the entire journey guarding it from Buckley. We're in my bed now, while it snows outside. I'm half watching Eternal Sunshine etc, and writing out an entry. It seems so long ago that I felt the need to update. It must have been a Blurty thing. Miss Blurty.

35 entries here. Feels like 10 or so. Not even half as much as I've listened to some albums. I think it's something like 3 more days of this sort of isolation, before I head to London and maybe back to my 'old' life.

G, you're not all 'there'. I know, I say, I've left pieces of myself all over the place. Close my eyes and forget what's there.

I'm so dramatic.

p.s E, go read someone else's journal. You're dead to me.

I was all set to write the ‘first snow’ entry. I fell asleep early and woke up to find the first real snow had gone and started while I was underwater. It’s that pretty kind of snow. The kind that falls gently and softly. Little fluffy particles that melt instantly when they land on your hot skin. The kind of snow where you feel magical just by looking at it.

But then, the power went out. The lack of any kind of electrical lighting along with the blanketing snow lend to an ‘end of the world’ kind of feeling in the bottom of my stomach. Like as though I am one of the few last survivors of an unnamable catastrophe and I’m journal-writing at the last outpost of the planet. Miles to go before I sleep…

I know. Dramatic. But then, that’s kind of how I am. Anything and everything can invoke feelings from me. Gone (it seems) are the days when apathy was the flavour in my head and all I felt was nothing for everything.

I took a few photographs of the snow. With flash, since no light is anywhere. They look like blue stained negatives. Beautiful in that fragile sort of way that touches you lightly before you dismiss it.

run
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

That's right. I'm a girl, who happens to temporarily reside on an Island. Someone pointed that out for me this evening. It's ironic how one can forget their own beautiful circumstances...

This is a photo I took this evening at Lake Huron. I love that lake. It's so dangerous. It's Niibin running away from the water crashing against the rocks. The look on her face is priceless.

So, back to being a girl. Most times, I love it. I love that my eyes are these pools the colour of coffee and that I can slink like a cat around my apartment in my underwear. And buy pretty shoes and kiss handsome men. I like that sort of thing. But, sometimes i hate being so predictable.

Like, acting like a girl.

Walking the huge slabs of limestone rocks tonight, reminding me of someone I've never laid eyes on before. How does that work? And typing this out, it comes to me that I shoudn't worry about that sort of thing. Because you know...it's such a girly thing to do.

*grin*
night, early risers...

Kettle cooked potato chips flavoured with chili and limes. But they don't taste quite right, so I left them where Buckley can't get at them and finished watching Empire Falls. This means one of two things. Either I'm not hungry, or I have a hot new crush on Ed Harris.

I hope it's just lack of hunger. He's getting on in years....

I took photos of flaring dashboard lights last night, in the dark, in the rain. On an old country road, by myself. It's time like those, I can't forget. Sweet photos. I used to love taking them, I still do....but I watch my younger sister as she grows by leaps and bounds in her ability to compose a good shot. I really hope she decides to take that photography program we've been talking about. I always start off the sentence with "...if I were your age, I'd.."
I know I probably sound like an ass, but that's ok. Doesn't really bother me.

I gave notice today where I have the studio. Also, picked up my paintings from the art show which ended on the 31st. Fed the cat, played catch with her for awhile, then locked up and left town to come back here, where Marble and Buckley waited for me.

There aren't any reasons for me to stay, and too many for me to go. An intriguing opportunity to advance my career and become what I have always wanted: my own boss (oh, and filthy rich, of course). I measure riches by how many blankets I have, and whether or not I can go into Chapters and buy 5 books instead of 1. To me, that's having a lot.

Anyway, I'm going to make a phone call and hopefully (not) trip over my words while I tell someone else about my day. First things first, always a lot of fun.

I swear to God, there oughta be a song called 'Gish' someday.
*grin*

Maybe it only shows up on the good days. Those rare ones, where you wake up and every step you take feels like the right one, even if you fall flat on your face.

your face on paper moons tonight. My imagination left me a few days ago, when I turned my back on fantasyland. Darn that place. The things I need to do in order to stay sane.

I've been reading about 'religious excitation'. Seems to me , everyone needs a 'why' instead of a 'who cares'. Pharmacology isn't the same it used to be in the 1930's. Which, in my opinion, is a good and a bad thing. Maybe the book I'm reading is outdated.

And I've been watching Carnivale a lot lately.

I only want what you can't give me...
I've decided, in some sort of unexpected wisdom, to move a little slower on the 'moving back to London' thing. Let's see how the job market treats me.

The peaks and valleys are hard to get used to. But know of others who ford those rivers and make it to shore. That makes it easier to wake up in the mornings.

But, you don't have any idea of what I'm talking about.

There's a place that she goes, given time...
I keep meaning to pick up this album just so I can have Martin's voice in my ears. I admit it, I miss the Tea Party and the shows. The backstage debauchery, the jokes, silly conversations, and the little rush I got from being so close to Stuart Chatwood (yeah, I had a crush for a little while).

It's late where I am. It's almost five in the morning. I went out with a low heart, low morale, thinking that my lack of morals finally hit rock bottom and nothing would raise them. Amazing what a little gin can do. Came back to the studio and started painting. Took some photos this evening, but nothing that touched me. Reached me.

I get mouthy when I'm brave. I left a loaded post on Punk Sud. I expect the children to be rousted by early morning. I just can't abide by ignorance. Except for my own.

Night, sweet things.


Butterfly - Jeff Martin