Finished Six Feet Under. Again. I keep falling asleep during the episodes and have to 'rewind' until I'm where I was. I would suck at Pay-per-view stuff. The messages from home tell me Marble is ok without me. I wish I could relay the same sentiment. I love you, please come home...

Mall, today with older sister. As we're sitting down to 4 dollar coffees, I snap this...

then she says "Oh, Gish..."

Shoe shopping. Pineapple scented soap. Christmas trees 80% off. The stores were quieter today, not too many people (which I like), although there were tons of kids around. I guess that's what you do when you have a baby...go to the mall.


Buckley and I in the park today. Misty grey park that I wanted to photograph, but Buckley is hard to walk (because he pulls on his leash like a deranged duck killer). Geese and swans hissed at us as we walked by. Every dog that meets Buckley, wants to eat him. I know how he feels. Also, the new collar that is supposed to stop the pulling, he takes off with his paws. So...another failed experiment. I guess I just have to resort back to yelling at him in public.

New Years nearly here. I don't care for the sentiments, as if anything can be washed or wished away with a few words or a better disposition. I prefer to huddle down and read rather than go out to some bar and drink fizzy wine with strangers. That's the plan, baby.

Love,
G.

Cold Play

Oh brother, I can't I can't get through...
After much back and forth today, my mother led Marble into the minivan and away they went. I was ok. I was fine, Buckley seemed fine. Then an hour later he started acting odd. Dying to go outside, freaking when he hears the neighbourhood dogs barking, and finally, sitting by the door.


Then it makes me sad. And I don't really want to talk to anyone about it. There are phone calls I'm supposed to return today, but I know I'll be lumpy on the phone and then it won't be fun for anyone.

Other than that, the day has been filled with lots of coffee drinking, book reading, visiting with friends, hanging around the house. My parents' reaction to my new apartment was quaint. Everyone admiring my burn blister, which I got last night when perogies exploded in the kitchen.

I've told you I can't cook, right?

Anyway, just another ordinary day but feeling loads quieter. I suppose there will be a few extra side affects of Marble's I hadn't noticed before. And if you knew me before this journal, you'd know Marble is like an extension of me.

But it's hard to act like a pussy when you do all the time, anyway.

if you want a burrito...you can have a bite of mine
It's funny now that I don't buy coffee at coffee shops anymore (on a daily basis) how much I look forward to a cup of coffee at home. Then I like the routine of making some. I can't deal with a coffee maker so I buy instant stuff and make it as strong as I want. If my stomach wouldn't stage a revolt, I would drink Espresso in large, litre sized mugs.

My older sister gave me a set of coffe mugs (and plates) that depict a scene in a house on each of them. So right now, I'm drinking out of the 'kitchen' one. I gotta say, kitchens taste good. Coffee tastes so good. Why am I not mainlining this stuff?? Oh right...I remember now.

Heh, and then I wonder why I can't sleep at night.

I'm in a real photo posting mood today but my camera is at my sister's place. Yes, I forgot it. No, I don't know why.

ohh..for christmas, I got a pair of big headphones from my brother-in-law. I was envisioning a curly cord and something that takes over the size of my head, but these ones aren't that big but the sound is nice. Something I miss from the old days. When you can hear the music so intimately. Not like this is news.

My parents haven't been to my apartment, yet. I've been compulsively washing the floors twice a day because I think they might stop by. Cleaning like a freak, because I want them to think I've grown up a bit since the last hole I fell in. You know?

sexy eyes and c'est la vie
At least, I think those are the lyrics to The Lure Would Prove Too Much, the current Twilight Singers song I am addicted to. It's good, I haven't heard the entire album because I live in Canada and don't know what iTunes is yet but I'm sure it's good. I love you so much, you have no idea The words are so good. I wish they would come to Toronto (again) so I can see them. I wish, I wish. Good to have things to wish for, again. Par-teh.

ok, enough blattering on. Gotta.
go.


Burrito - Pete Yorn

my poetry room
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

The lamp is from Goodwill, even the corkboard was someone else's before it was mine. New chalkboard, though. Feels like I'll always have one, somewhere. Write, erase, write again. Editing, is the polite way to correct mistakes.

I watch Buckley play sometimes. I don't know why he lies upside down to chew on something. He spreads his legs out behind him, sometimes too. Marble is like a rock. Not as fluid-like, as Buckley. Too extreme opposites. Like me.

I just wanted to send out a something. Like a knock on some wood. Little taps to know I'm here. Before I slip underwater for the night. I don't know why I write down these people's phone numbers when I never call anyone on this spiffy new cordless telephone.

This is me, when it's quiet. Nighty.

I wonder if that's because I can be cold, or unwelcome. Hard, edgy. My words clipped and/or hurried. I think when I slow down long enough to articulate what is in my head, it scares the shit out of people.

I feel like I just spilled my guts to the Craig guy (and I only refer to him that way so as to distance myself; smart thinking, captain). So, despite past experience with the spilling of guts, I feel better and not so fucking emotionally constipated. It's really liberating to speak with someone like that. However, it kind of feels like a colonic irrigation afterwards, so I don't recommend it on a daily basis. At least, that's sort of how I'd characterise it. Even though I 've never actually uh....yeah.

And I can't be the only person on the planet, vacuuming. Or washing floors. All lemony fresh hardwood. One of my sister's in-laws uses Pledge on her linoleum. I can hardly be bothered to pick up a bottle of Mr. Clean.

I spent the better part of this evening, with my family from out of town. It's weird, I mean, I'm weird. When they aren't here, I miss them. When they are, I just want to slink away to my apartment and hide out. Why is that?

I'm intimacy-challenged.
Sounded better in my head.

The word 'scare' is used so loosely. Chain smoking is what I'm scared of. Something I can easily slip into if given the right mood and opportunity. I'm scared because I don't like life without Marble, and he's moving away from me to live with my mother. I don't get scared like I used to, about money, jobs, what to do with my life. Not anymore. Seemed like trying to make beds in a burning house. So, I stopped. Cold.

Alone? That's ok. Because everyone is single, and even when you aren't...you're still really on your own. Lost your heart. Tricky one, but liveable. As humans, despite the amount we pontificate on the importance of emotions...we do very little to hold them sacred, or respect them. We downplay someones loss in order to 'help' them get over it. We minimize marriage breakups in terms of financial arrangements and settlements. That or mudslinging. Which just makes us all dirty, in the end. I wonder if it's because emotion seems so intangible? That right there, feels like an original idea. But probably not.

Not that any of that last bit applies to me. Someone hurts me, I don't tell everyone in order to justify it. It's private, so I blog what I can, think it through the rest like a freak and try to move on. Still testing this theory, of course so bear with me. So far, so good, Captain.

One thing I'm worried about. Whether or not unexpected visitors will heed the little sign hanging on the front door. It reads: By Appointment Only. Do Not Disturb.
It's my way of telling anyone I don't know, to not knock on my door without posting something really belligerent or ignorant.

I got the 2nd Season of Six Feet Under for Christmas. It's the only season I haven't seen, and so that makes me happy. To be able to watch it uninterrupted.

I don't want to be scared because he says he loves me.

untitled
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

This is what it looks like on Christmas Eve in London, Ontario. Not a speck of flying snow, and no clouds to hope for. It's ironic how we bitch and moan about snow when it's not around but come Christmas time, and we want it and we want it now.

That's Marble in the photograph, as well. For what could be our last walk together in Springbank Park. He's going back with my mother when they go to the Island after the holidays. I know I've said this before, but this time it feels more permanent. It doesn't feel as though I'll be picking him up in a couple of weeks or anything remotely similar to that. And to be a psychic-animal-mind-reading weirdo, but I'm sure he knows something is up. He's old, and I'm hoping that he'll be ok with my parents, and not pining for me at the top of the stairs like he does when I leave the house. I'll miss his calmness.

It's funny to be updating on Christmas Eve, but I had some extra time after the present wrapping and relative-visiting so here I am. As much as I enjoy being around the relations at holiday time, I really enjoy the fact I have a private, quiet place to go to at the end of the day. Not even promises of breakfast in bed were enough to secure my agreement to stay over at my older sister's house. I promised I'd be there first thing in the morning. 7 a.m.

ugh. So early to be merry. Anyhow, back to my own private doings...

Merry Christmas. Again.

:)

asleep baby
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

There is a Viagra commercial on t.v in the other room. One of my ears caught the tail end of the warnings and 'in case of's. My other ear is trained on the lovely honey that is the voice of Ray Lamontagne.

I didn't think I would do much shopping this year. A few odds and ends, small gifts for friends and family. Despite my best laid plans, I found myself swallowed by the numbing traffic and smelly crowds that make up the frenzy that is the Christmas season. If I'm not finished now, I never will be. I just can't plaster on a smile and jog through the people as though I'm elated it's almost baby Jesus' birthday.

Most of my family arrived in London this afternoon. My older sister asked me to play sentry at her house in the North end, with promises of satellite television and cheese sandwiches when all I wanted to do was crawl onto the air mattress and slip underwater for a few hours. In preparation for what, I have no idea. There is just the general feeling of impending...something.

So, everyone arrived. Then they wanted to shop (I wanted to weep), but I gamely went, where everyone else was. Ick.

Things to be done around the house. Like the chalkboard and curtain hanging. Laundry. Those things that make us all the same. But my thoughts are on Marble and how he'll be leaving when the rest of the family does. I guess maybe he isn't my dog, after all. I suppose we'll see.

But now, I think I'll go catch the last 15 minutes of American Justice on A & E and get my breath back. If I don't hear from you before then, Happy Christmas, readers.

G.

People are nuts right now. Personally, I'm satisfied with giving someone 20 dollars and a hug.
It's ok if we're not all first in line, or if we have the right of way.

A day out there, in the shopping world is enough to make me huddle down for a couple of days. Just me, some french fries and red wine.

Oh, and those sweet words from someone who is kind of special. Made me grin to myself all day. More later.

I've been listening to The Twilight Singers the past couple of days. A mixture of hopeful romantic songs that are really about heartbreak and impossible women. Impossible men. But this newer song has phone messages recorded in it, and I love that. I don't know why. Maybe I'll mention it to Craig sometime. To use one of my manic voice messages in one of his songs.

A photo of one of my rooms.

The couch waits patiently for new cushions, and the living room lamps bought at thrifts stores beg to be lit every evening. So, I do. Then I spend all my time in the kitchen, writing in a fever.

I inadvertantly cancelled the visit from a northern friend for next week. I don't know what I want from that, so I figure it's just best to leave well enough alone. Or maybe I just know he doesn't have what I want.

Feeling the oppressive weight of living, again. Plans for the future are running the gamut my mind has become, again. Sometimes, it's so hard to just tell my mind to shut the fuck up, you know? I take photographs that I don't particularly care for and write shit I know will sell, but dislike.

The pursuit of happiness. Just because we're allowed to chase doesn't mean we're going to catch. My personality changes with the darkening of the sky, things become impossible. Not like during the day when the light is coming through the kitchen windows and I feel like everything is laid out before me, waiting to be picked.

It's ok. I just can't sleep again, that's all.

The house is a mess. No, really. I made these things with flatbread and cheese last night and didn't clean up after myself. I had good intentions (at some point). I ever bought Buckley a little container for his dog toys. Does he use it? No. I put stuff in there and he just takes it right back out again, scattering all manner of squeaking candy canes, fake newspapers and something with bells on it, around the living room.

My first piece of real furniture came to me free. Now picture this antique couch strapped to the roof of my car with bungee cords. At 2 in the morning. No, really. That's what I did last night. Then today, I bought a lamp at a local Goodwill. Something they are very short on, Good will I mean. The salelady couldn't help me find an outlet to test the lamp. Then snarled at me when I asked how much it was. Looks neat in the living room, though.

There was a time when I had a huge appreciation for clean lines and brand new furniture, but alas, I've reverted back to my super cheap ways and the unforgetable styles of a bygone era. That means it's all Value Village and etc from here on in. Furniture-wise, I mean. Believe me, if I came across a floor lamp with a fringed velvet red shade that looked like it belonged in a bordelo, then I'd want it.

Now that a couch has moved into the living room, that means I won't be able to watch television in bed anymore. I'm not really sure if that's a good or bad thing. But given my love/hate relationship with insomnia, I suspect I will be spending a great deal more time in the living room in coming months.

I was reading Mattie's blog today (who am I kidding, I read every day) and now he's talking about the novelty of blogging about nothing. Not to be a smart ass, but...isn't that the point of blogging? When he's not talking about world events (unlike what you read here) he's posting photos of actresses. So, you get a bit of both worlds over there. Here, you just get me. No money back guarantee, I'm afraid.
Go see him, definitely worth the price of a cup of coffee.
http://www.matthewgood.org/

Anyhow, Jeff Buckley is playing now and I have to take Marble and Buckley for a walk before my very iffy neighbourhood's nightlife comes alive. I lied to my mother when I said the neighbourhood wasn't that bad.

*sigh*

If I didn't know better (and maybe I don't), I'd swear it was snowing out there. Because, in my cave it's feeling a tad more comfortable, womb-like than any other ordinary day. Even though the streets are bare, and I know this because when I came home tonight, I was paying attention to the way the soles of my converse sneakers sounded on the pavement. Digression. Even though the streets are bare, it feels like I'm in a haven while a storm rages outside. Insulating me from the rest of the world.

Christmas is nearly here and shortly afterwards, I'm to expect a visit from a Northern friend. One I promised to snuggle under toasty warm blankets, watching scary B movies with for a few days. He's even promised to cook, and to perhaps teach me how to bake. Sounds nice, huh? Tell that to my head. It's holding my excitement hostage.

Lime green post-it notes have taken over my work area. It looks like my laptop and work surface has hives. Green ones. Too many notes to myself, I suppose. Those projects that burned so brightly in my mind, dwindled now to barely smoking ashes of creativity. Forgotten on a post-it.

I feel the need for some insulation, though. It's addictive.

It feels like luggage or anything related to luggage is what the day has been flavoured with. I woke up to meet my older sister at The Vietnam Restaurant for an early lunch. I've been in London for two weeks, this is my third time eating there (at least). (Ok, maybe not luggage related here).

I thought about a friend of mine who was either about to go under the knife, or was recovering from it. I didn't actually get around to asking him specifically when the surgery was to take place. Strangely enough, all I remember are the dates. Selfishly, I wonder when he'd be well enough to call. If he does, that is. I kind of made a mistake earlier this week and he was angry the last time we spoke. Rightly so, of course. Something about me just pisses you off, eventually.

We were looking for 'the perfect bag' for our stepdad and our mother. We found them, but not before two ladies yelled at us for standing there too long, inspecting the bags. "Is there a reason why we're stopped?" She asked. I said "Yup, we're shopping. Stopping, looking at what we want, deciding, etc...shopping". Not in a bitch way, either. Just matter of factly. She huffed past us into the bedding section. Good thing she didn't meet up with me in there, I am notorious for taking a long time to choose a blanket.

I ended up wheeling around a little carry-on piece of airline luggage (for the step dad) and following my sister in and out of stores while she looked for a gift for the baby's godfather. I eventually gave up and sat on a bench in front of a The Dead Sea booth, people watching. I watched one of the salesgirls sucker a guy into getting his nails buffed. I think he thought she was pretty. I watched his eyes watching her. Wished for my camera. The dainty way he held his hand, nails out for the sales lady. An oxy-moron in front of my eyes.

Ok, I like the telephone. I like that I can call people when I want to, and get calls that I like, etc. But sometimes, it's a hassle. The returning phone call thing I hate doing. I hate talking to people that speak slowly. I feel like I'm on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the next word to come out. Sometimes, I want to jump off that cliff, they take so long. My landlord's answering machine is like that. His greeting is about 1 minute long. It almost kills me when I have to leave a message. But I had to, the dryer is broken. Still.

Came home, made myself a cup of coffee. Let the dogs out, made the bed, pet the cat, checked messages, etc. An hour ago, I was eating figs at my sister's, laughing at the way the baby dances (like he's got no knees or something). And now I'm at my home, near the end of my hallway...


Sometimes, everything is so pretty I'm just speechless.

I didn't know today was Thursday. I thought it was Wednesday. This has happened before. Good thing I have friends who tell me what day it is.

Going to start writing tomorrow. New topic in mind. Etc.

I sleep with both cameras on the nightstand. I don't know why. So I know they are there, I suppose. Photos tomorrow, maybe. This has been a drive by, I've been killing time whilst waiting for a documentary on the Rosenbergs to start. Oooh, time!

Anyhow, sleep time. Mind the construction (if you notice any). I'm just looking for a new look. Something clean and spare but also with some colour.
G.

I feel like such a bitch.
The end.

I have one, now. I just made fake quesadillas for dinner. I burnt one, then wondered why it tasted a little bit funny. Sour cream, squeaky green onions, fresh ground pepper, and Terminator 3 (hoping for another Nick Stahl dream). I also picked up some other food things, too in my attempt to eat normal meals like an ordinary person. Don't ask me what I bought though, because I already forget. Probably nothing overly healthy, or requiring a lot of effort to prepare. No. Not me.

Tired. Slept through hours last night. Ate a snack but have forgotten the taste of cherry sours. Watched another documentary (addictive). Slept some more. Need darker window shades on the bedroom window. New cotton blanket that snaps satisfyingly when I make the bed. Like the cotton sheets do, out of the dryer.

Last night, I came home late and the Christmas lights were on. No more snow, but still felt a little like Christmas around here. The shovel I so very wanted last week, is sitting neglected in the front foyer. I wonder if it wonders if it will be needed or useful again. I wonder about inanimate objects all the time. Sighing cd payers and the sounds of doors shutting themselves with a small, satisfied click.

Dark blue fingernails today. I go through these stages of nail colouring, then the bottles will sit unused on a surface somewhere in my home. Pale blue, dark red, black. Personality in a jar? Maybe. Doesn't matter, it's too fun to ignore sometimes.

Despite sleeping right through 4 hours last night (which is an accomplishment), my eyes feel tired, muscles are stiff. Sore throat, and a bit of a runny nose. Instead of an arid apartment, I have a small cold building (hope it's small) and so I plan on being tender with myself for a few days. Babying oneself if terribly indulgent, but I like it, I suppose.

Supposed to be warm here all week. The snow has mostly melted in place, and I suspect it may be time for a walk in the park with Marble and Buckley tomorrow. If only I had had time today. In any event, this is where I leave you.
Miss you,
G.

I'm so excited. I want to call someone but anyone I know that will understand, is either at work, or...I don't know, they don't exist.

A couple of days ago, I was looking around and came across a new online magazine that is for music addicts. Yes, I subscribe, I think to myself. They're looking for contributors and so I offer my services as writer/music lover extraordinaire. They take me up on it.

Not only do they take me up on it, but they arrange an interview with Daniel Johnston. And if you're reading me, I really hope you aren't scratching your head or looking confused right now. Daniel Johnston. The genius who came up with "True Love Will find You in the End" and "Some Things Last a Long Time".

ug.

I know it's not cool to be this excited. But I am. Simple as that. This is cool.
later,
G.

I know. I know I listen to too much Bob Dylan. I can't help it, it's way too easy to open that folder up from where I'm sitting. Rose stopped by to check out the new place and to bring her dogs over to meet my dogs. Buckley, is extremely impressed with Dea, Marble less so (of course).

I had to change a few things around at the Flickr site so that I have a little more control over what's viewed by the general public, etc. It's my old paranoia kicking in like a lost friend. So comforting to feel like a freak, again. Like me. The way my skin feel under my hands.

Friends and family calling last night, wanting to know details. I send some positive thoughts their way and hope for the best. It's hard to be impartial to what's going on in the rest of the world, outside of my perspective. As one of my sister's said: I need to think more about other people. And stop being so arrogant. So tied up in myself.

I'm cranky today. Tired because I haven't slept in a couple of days and things don't seem to be going right, today. All the little things pile up into something insurmountable, sometimes. The rest of today will be spent in my head. I need to shut the outside world out, for a bit. I feel my borders being crossed.

And I miss Craig's voice. Time to connect.

To come at last to be undone...
I can't sleep. It's not something that ever comes easily for me. I have to grab it with both hands and somehow convince it to stay like an errant lover. if you just stay for a little while, I promise I won't see anyone else. Please, baby.

I want to make it promises that I'll never keep. Maybe sleep is something that visits only the good, the healthy, the happy. Or the desperately sad, the ones that numb themselves with it. Nothing for the inbetweens, I guess. Instead, I get to twist around in my white cotton sheets, my head under the pillows, My hair these waves of dark brown weaving in and out of the covers. My skin, warm from the heated air under my blankets. The bed is a tricky place, sometimes.

I'm supposed to be up early tomorrow. Maybe I can't sleep because I know this. Must get up early. And no music is like soothing. Maybe I should fall asleep listening to the weather channel or the sound of the furnace grudgingly kick itself into life. More hot air.

I shovelled the driveway today. My car was completely covered in snow, like a newspaper box. Looking at snow (and I had this exact conversation today) makes me want to romanticise everything. The sweet way it lands on your eyelashes, on your skin. Last week, it snowed for 17 hours straight. We got 5 feet. I was snowed in for a number of days, only released this afternoon from my little icy castle. Maybe you know this already.

Christmas party at my sister's today. I chased my little nephew around (not allowed to post photos of his sweet face) and ate spinach and ricotta pizza from Angelo's. It used to be my favourite, in another life. Funny how one strives for some kind of normality without even really realising it. Must maintain equilibrium.

I would like for any readers that dig music, to go and look at my friend Craig's page. He's really good. Reminiscent of Dylan, a bit of Buckley in there and the sweetest voice that I've ever heard on telephone wire. Just click on the banner below and have a listen for yourself.




Every Name is my Name - The Matthew Good Band

Labels: insomnia

Still don't know what love means...
It's been a long, sleepless week. I've spent a lot of time with documentaries. And still no exciting topics for discussion at this crazy place.


Instead, I wonder the rooms, doing little things. Puttering, I used to call it. My cat, Beebs, watches me from her perch. Eyes like darts, sometimes.


And I'm constantly tripping over the dogs. They lay right behind me wherever I'm standing. Buckley is the worst offender.


I want things to be sharp looking. Comfortable.


My sister was here the other day. She said, "You're the only person I know who can have nothing, and still make a mess..."
Observant, she is. My counter is cluttered with my camera case, the modem for the phone, the box the modem came in, and a lone pepsi can. I can't not have a mess somewhere in my house. It would be weird. I have to know that *I* live there. And putting out little candles or hanging up pretty things, doesn't do it for me.

My bangs are really short. Shorter than the usual Bettie Paige look I used to go for. Like I said, it's Vulcan-time!

I was thinking about Vancouver's downtown eastside. Drug addicts being described as non-people. The lost, the un-found people that wander those streets, forgotten and shunned by the rest of us. I almost wish I lived there so I could volunteer for needle exchange or something. It's almost funny how out of the ashes of the former Me...my social justice training has come back stronger than ever. I'm planning on volunteering at a couple of shelters here in town, and am scoping out to see what else I can do.

Jumping to a completely different topic, I never get to have sex dreams. I don't know why. And if I do, they are completely weird, like my being attractive to a mushroom or something stupid like that. And even that has been curtailed by my sex drive having done a runner sometime last year. But last night. Last night was a very welcome change to an otherwise very boring dream state the past few months. I got to have sex with Nick Stahl.

I picked up a little crush on him when plowing through the last season of Carnivale. It was probably a mix of the bible-reading, prison breakout, dirty and dusty kind of character that appealed to me. I have no idea. In any case. I actually had sex in a dream. It was lovely. In the woods. Or a woody area. I think he was the Bully. Which is sad..because I didn't really care for that character. Ick.

Disclaimer:
I have not actually had sex or in fact, ever met Nick Stahl. I'm sure the search engines are going to have a field day with this topic matter. While I'm sure he's a completely acceptable partner, it's most definitely highly unlikely to ever happen. Now where did I put the Carnivale dvd...?

Jolene - Ray Lamontagne

show love with no remorse...
It amazes me sometimes what comes to mind. I read another's blog and think YEAH! Then I get a little carried away and research the info that inspired me and get lost in a notion. So easy to get lost. So hard to get found. Hence, the title of today's entry.

I climbed out of my house today to meet my older sister at a convenience store for provisions. I have no shovel. I'm a loser, therefore I have no shovel. Ha. We got something like 50 centimetres the other day and it has covered everything as well as completely blocked me into my driveway, which sucks because...well, I have no shovel. That will be remedied at some point.

Then I get to shovel. Alright.

Do you remember those entries where I used to post photos all the time? This is one of those entries. In an effort to make complete and total use of my new(er) camera, the Sony Alpha, I spent part of the day in bed reading the manual like a convert. Pretty riveting stuff, but I managed to get to the middle of the book. And learned a couple of new things I didn't know before.
Like how good my nightstand looks with a glass of Dr.Pepper on it. And the light. Oh, the light. I could write novels about light. But they may bore my readers to tears.

Or the view from my bed, as I'm fiddling with the various controls. I always wanted a chocolate coloured room, and by pure luck, I happened to move into a place that had one.

My sister tells me there is a little christmas party at her place on Sunday. I say, oh, fun, do you want me to come? She says yes, please. Then hesitates. Then tells that I must be nice to So and So. I blink, quiet for a second, then say...what?!?

Now, I don't really know this So and So, and I'm pretty shy around people I don't really know. Also, not a lot of people get my sense of humour. While I may be shooting out lines from Evil Dead II, the other person is generally looking at me like a newly discovered freak show. That's ok, I can handle that only I can handle me in social settings. Having said all that, I don't ever really recall being unpleasant or blatantly cranky with So and So. So...what's the problem?

Apparently, I'm just not nice to him. I think, great. I have to be nice to someone I don't know. And I know what will happen. I'll attempt to make 'nice' conversation and before you know he'll think I'm trying to hit on him. For some reason, there seems to be no middle ground when it comes to me. I don't really know why. Genes, perhaps. Or maybe...I'm just fucked up. Given the events of the past few months, I can live with that. It's only life, after all.

Anyhow, It's 2:30 in the morning. I can't sleep. I've been watching the Documentary channel all night, and have ideas about going to Africa or Afghanistan to lend a hand in clean up in some kind of weird Social Worky kind of way. Crazy thoughts, I tell you. I barely get to one place before I'm thinking of leaving again. It's just me. I am always looking for the next rock.
nuts.

Dosed - Red Hot Chili Peppers

I had to come back and write again. Things have been broiling around in my head for the past two hours. Like red pears and the little blue bowl they sit in. Or the fat yellow candle that sits beside me, eating up my cigarette smoke.

Or unanswered telephone calls that cause me to leave stilted, retarded messages. Or enough gall in my bladder to leave comments on a rockstar's photo page. And expect a tidy hello in my inbox. It's the ego, I tell you. Both of us.

And, thanks to him, I can't get Daniel Johnston's song True Love will Find you in the end out of my head. It's just eating my ears up right now. Even though I've heard all this stuff in another life, it still sounds new. Almost like home. If that makes sense.

And I've been trying to grow out my bangs to a long length, but I can't hack the 'in between' stage, so I hacked them off at the knees tonight. Now I'm sporting super short Bif Naked type bangs, which leads me to wonder if I took maybe a bit too much off.

Never satisfied, I tell you. I think I look like a vulcan now.
*grin*

Now I sit in my new home, with freshly connected cable and internet. I spent a couple of hours glued to A & E because I haven't been able to watch the channel properly since sometime last year. With a pizza lunch and Dr. Pepper. In bed. After a hot bath. With the volume up.

set my watch to the atomic clock...
Anyway, it's been snowing here all day. That hard kind of snow that builds up into crusty wedges on your car. The kind that sneaks into the collar of your coat because of the wind. My christmas lights look fantastic, though. So much merrier when they have some snow weighing them down.

Buckley was entranced with the cable man. He kept trying to hump his boots. I wanted to laugh but sensed that perhaps that wouldn't be very nice. Heh. There are wires everywhere...wire, wire everywhere...but in a good kind of way. Telephone is working, internet is super fast and of course, the television is spewing out enough garbage for me to watch until doomsday. I can't help it, if given the opportunity I cam addicted. I just never really had the time or the means to do so (such as no cable in bedroom, family taking up precious t.v time, etc).

And now the apartment feels more like a home with connections to the outside world on a more permanent basis. I'm not one of those people that never gave up on themselves, I don't see the virtue in being able to proclaim it so. I give up on a game of solitaire more often than not. My chances are always better at a fresh start, has been my way of thinking. Not really sure how its working out, though.

I'm supposed to meet my older sister at a mall across town, but roads are bad. I don't know if I will go just for the sake of going outside today, or if I must wait until tomorrow when more than likely, the roads will be better.

Also, my hotmail account is giving me a hard time, although I didn't know about it until the other day. It has decided to deliver any email I've sent about 2 weeks ago, today. I find this out by weird messages left for me, asking what the hell am I talking about. God, I have no idea, I think to myself. What did I say? No idea, either. So, this has left me pondering a new email account with another provider...or letting Hotmail know and waiting it out. I've had the account for about 5 years and given my tendancy to leave things where they stand, I'm relunctant to let it go on a whim.

Pondering is such heavy work.



Easy, lucky, free - Bright Eyes

red pears
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Too much Bob Dylan today. I got stuck on Most of the Time which has been playing for about an hour. It's all about the background, these days. On thursday, the majority of my services will be set up such as internet, cable and telephone. That makes me happy, it will feel like more of a home once things like a telephone are readily available. And A & E. Oooh, I just got some shivers.

Although, it's come to my attention that A & E has downgraded itself to some degree this past year. All that reality t.v bullshit and Dawg the Bounty Hunter...ugh. Almost enough to make one want to go out and buy a trailer. And internet. I'm currently 'borrowing' someone's wireless signal which is enough to make me feel guilty on a daily basis as well as complain about a really low signal strength. This is the part where I'm supposed to shut up.

Whenever I get the misguided notion that men are noble creatures, I just have to watch High Fidelity and then my head is screwed back on straight. Always with the Cusack. I'm currently addicted to red pears, and have this bowl of them sitting on my counter. They gleam so prettily in the light, I want to eat them, but then I like looking at them too. Conundrum.

I spent the day driving around place to place, trying to figure out what to do with my time. I met up with my sister at her work, which just put a bad taste in my mouth. Her workplace, I mean. While I'm waiting for her to meet me in the reception area, I'm stuck looking at posters of tanks and the different 'missions' currently taking place in Afghanistan and Iraq. Yup, the place builds tanks and is behind in production at the moment, which means that someone is buying an awful lot of tanks these days...I wonder who...? I know it pays well, but I wonder if it would be enough to sooth my conscience into submission. Enough to let me sleep at night? I doubt it. Just being in the reception area, with the high tech security guards and the fact I had to practically give enough information to apply for a million dollar bank loan, just to see my sister...was enough to drive me away.

I have never been one to talk about the war, because it just seems too pointless to pontificate about something I can do nothing about. Like complaining about the weather or how much snow we get in the winter, or rush hour traffic. If anyone wanted a war opinion, they'd find plenty of other blogs that talk about it. I never felt the need to join the ranks, so to speak. I don't believe I would be able to articulate how much it distresses me, words seem so small for something so intense.

Bah. Movie time, my head is full....

front of cd
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Surprise day time phone call from a friend, far away. It kicked me in the ass to finish the little cd project I had promised him a few weeks ago. I was stuck on the cover art. In the end, the art is a bit of a joke because it is made up entirely of photos of myself. My ode to vanity, I suppose.

I drove all over London looking for a marker or grease pencil that would write on dark photographs. I finally found one, at 5 p.m. then came home and made dinner. Dinner consisted of too-hot chicken wings and baby spinach salad. I only ate the salad since the wings almost burnt my face off. My quest to eat normal, regularly timed meals is an entry on its own, I suspect.

Busy like a little Martha Stewart worker bee, putting up the curtains, hanging christmas lights, doing dishes as soon as I dirty them. I guiltily bought 3 boxes of breakfast cereal, resolving I would not eat it like a snack whilst watching Nick Stahl in Terminator 3 (another guilty indulgence). Instead, I watched that movie while I ate dinner. *grin*

Christmas in a few weeks, my family will be around me. The days I've spent alone, not in their company have made me appreciate who they are. I like the solitude, but I miss the noise, sometimes. Like Rsm said so many years ago: maybe I'll never be satisfied with anything. Bugger that statement has stayed with me all this time.

I don't know where the time goes sometimes. Now it's time for bed and a movie.

empty
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

That's what the fridge in my new apartment looks like. Not unlike any fridge I've ever had in my lifetime, only cleaner I suppose. I wanted to post photos of the entire apartment but the lack of anything that makes it 'mine' seems to make the exercise pointless. I do a few 'homey' things when the mood strikes. For instance, there is one curtain up in the kitchen...only 2 more to go. I'm hindered by my lack of height (for once) and can't reach the other windows.

The red sari that used to hang in my studio now covers the large front window in the living room. I felt like I was in a fishbowl or something, so I needed to cover the window. Chunk and I had bought christmas lights to hang as well, but I haven't made it that far yet. I thought I should pace myself.

The dogs and the cat seem to have adjusted to the new place. Buckley is currently running back and forth from the living room to the bedroom with his new chew toy (squeaking like mad) which happens to be in the shape of a candy cane. Marble is of course, lying underneath my chair. Beebs has been in every single window, she can't get enough. Maybe it's all the space, or maybe it's just all in my head, but they seem happier.

Stemless wine glasses and square plates, this place will be everything I ever wanted. With only my shoes under the bed. So comforting. I can say that from this vantage point, having just finished eating my first cooked meal in the house. That is to say, I heated up some pizza and can attest the stove appears to be working. Alas, the dryer, is not. I did a load of laundry (which is an entry in itself) and now have clean if wet, clothes.

My first dirty dish and 7th can of Pepsi. I don't know where I'll fit all the joy in.

*grin*