false hope
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

It's not so bad, this underwater business. I came up for air today to meet up with a couple of friends, then slipped quietly back into that black, black lake when it was time to go home. My camera has been at my sister's for the entire week, having only gotten it back today, I take photos of what used to be my miracle pills. The ones that put me to sleep, tucked me in, and just let me sleep. My little blue pills. Now they're just like my Fool's gold. Or in the world of doctors and pharmacists: Zopiclone.

The insomnia is getting worse with age, but I kind of expected that. Like skin, hair, teeth, things degrade as time slips by. That's ok. Although, for some reason it reminds me of this book I once read . Maybe I'll lose my last bit of string, after awhile.
I'm not the only one on this planet that can't sleep. I expect the problem to remedy itself sooner or later, regardless of what I actually do or don't do.

Listening to Simon and Garfunkel a lot lately, or Pete Yorn when I'm in bed, pretending to sleep. In a Zen-like madness I completely changed the bedroom around so that as soon as you walk in, you can fall into bed. I like that idea. Of falling into bed.

Took some frosty photos tonight, as Buckley ate snow in the front yard. I can't decide which movie to watch, so I'll probably end up reading instead. But then...

right?

In an effort to stop consuming so much sugar, I picked up some of that new Pepsi, jazz sensations something or other. It is supposed to be black cherry vanilla flavoured pepsi. So far, it just tastes like diet crap. I'm disappointed. Although, if I keep drinking it...eventually it will win me over. It's amazing what one can acclimate to if given the opportunity.

I'm excited, because it's Monday tomorrow. I will clean the bathroom and the nooks and crannies of my orange kitchen with one eye on the phone. I'll will the job offers to come in. Or whatever.

You know, I blew a fuse the other night. I was rewiring an old lamp into a hanging lamp (not such a good idea with limited training, let me tell you) and when the moment of truth came (meaning, I plugged it in) there was a bright spark and then nothing. I was confused. I had followed the directions for the other lamp (swag lamp kit) and figured a lamp is a lamp is a lamp, no matter what. Right? Right. Turns out I forget to tie a knot in the wire.

Curses! Foiled again! Just kidding. I already got the lecture from two sisters, who also took the opportunity to laugh at the crooked bookshelf I built. Seriously, it's still standing, and doing what it was made for...how bad can it be???

ok, that's it. I think this is long enough for an entry.

Good night, thanks for dropping by.

Labels: blue pills, diet pepsi, electrical, fools gold, insomnia, zopiclone

We
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I can change, I swear...
I smoked too many cigarettes today. One call from a job in Philly. I didn't take it, it wasn't what I wanted. I wish I could forget the days that hurt and easily remember the ones that heal. I took this a few months ago before my art show. I'm really not quite sure what to do with it now. I guess it can go into someone else's private collection. It doesn't seem to strike a chord, the way it used to. Sometimes, I hang on to things forever. Other times, I barely realise they are gone before I turn out the lights for the night.

I'm in full lockdown mode now. It's my own fault. A specific blend of pharmaceuticals to help get me through the night, a couple of novels and some photographs. I don't know when I'll resurface. Maybe sometime next week.

These little 'slow downs' happen once in awhile, and from experience I've just got to keep taking breath, and hoping that it will be over soon.

I want something that won't let me dream anymore. My dreams (they say are wishes) hurt me, big barbs lodged into the sides of my arms, little thorns in my side, the nicks and scrapes that my life has brought me. Sometimes....they just keep coming back.

Ok, I lied. I posted a photo of that painting because I know the next time I log on, I'll see it. And maybe it will make me feel better. Silence those stupid ghosts from the past, the whispers that eat away at my self esteem and self worth (Oprah talk). Maybe I'll remember the orange glow of love and then my world will turn upright again.
Maybe.

But now, it's Black Cherry soda pop and another chapter of the sad book I'm reading. Climbing under my covers, tinfoil on the windows, drugs in my system and the prayer that I don't dream of you anything, tonight.

Don't bother calling me, I won't pick up the phone. aloha.


You're a Big Girl Now - Bob Dylan

Labels: Blach cherry pop, Bob Dylan, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, lockdown, painting, pharmacology, Sylvia Plath, underwater, witness

I've always loved colour. This love affair was never fraught with disagreements or ove of one over another. Oh no. All were equally beautiful, in my mind. Even the sludge green colour had it's place.

But I've not always made good decisions with colour. Namely, painting rooms and such. One good decision was a mushroom/taupe colour I had once painted in the living room of a house I owned last year. I loved that colour. It went with everything, it felt classy and slick at the same time. Timeless, was the word I was looking for.

When I moved into my current place of residence, I had no issues with the colours of the rooms either way. Ok, maybe the Thalo blue colour of the 'bedroom' (which I use as an office) is a bit....boring. Cold, maybe. Too damn blue, absolutely. The room I actually use for sleep is a chocolate brown (a colour in a room I have always coveted), the living room is a darkish sage green. The entry way is an understated yellow. The kitchen WAS grey, as are the hallways. All the trim is white.

So what do I do? I decide to paint the kitchen, which let me tell you is no easy feat. This particular room has things I need to get around in order to get to the wall, the cabinets are odd in the way that they don't have doors and ar also placed a bit higher than normal. That could be because the ceilings are about 16 feet. So, maybe arduous is the word I am looking for. It was an arduous task to repaint the kitchen.

Having said that, the kitchen is now the colour of marigolds. The orange ones. Very orange in here. So orange in fact, I wonder if I misjudged my love for this particular shade for this particular room. OR, it could be that I am actually the worst house painter on the face of this earth. That could be why I am not really liking the kitchen right now. Eventually, I will post photos, but I'm just so ashamed right now. And I've left my camera at my sister's again.

On second thought, it kind of looks nice with the lights out. In all fairness, I've been living with half painted walls for a couple of weeks because of the lack of a ladder to reach the last foor of the ceiling way up there. Now that I have been abe to do that, I look around and see my mistakes (yes, splodges of paint on trim and such where there oughn't be orange) and some on the ceiling. Fixable, with the can of white paint I actually had the forethought to buy.

Well, I wanted a warm room. A room I would feel welcome in. One that could be rustic in that adobe/mexican way that would allow for the all that romanticism to seep in through my skin so I can write something lovely and lucrative. *grin*

So, I guess we'll see what's what in the daylight.

It's not often I get up on any kind of soap box and attempt to get my voice heard to those who have a different point of view. I understand that people are entitled to their own opinions and also, that not everyone has to agree on anything.

But I do have a problem with what's being said at The Globe and Mail website with respect to one article. The article in question discusses the impending trial in of Robert Pickton in British Columbia. Actually, that's a lie. The article in fact, discusses the personal lives of the women Pickton is accused of killing.

Words and phrases like drug addicts, prostitutes, homeless, ad nauseum. While one can argue that this helps put these women in a human light, I am going to say no, it doesn't. It dehumanizes them and relegates them to the lower echelons of society. In reading how they made their living, or spent their money, some ridiculous amount of readers are going to think these are choices these women made of their own free will. Those same readers will forget the socio and economical barriers that these women faced as the result of their hardships. But the unspoken part of that is the end of the "free will" statement that reverberates in my mind whenever I hear or read it which is and so they deserved to die, their choices led to their deaths.

I can't agree. I think it's probable that the position these women were in certainly made them vulnerable to murderers and rapists. But that doesn't make it ok. That kind of mentality belongs in the 1970's before there were any progressive laws in Canada regarding sexual assault.

It's shameful for the way some of the collective Canadians view this sort of thing. That if a crime is committed, let it only happen to good people, because then it would matter. If there is any doubt, take a look at the article in The Globe and Mail. Or for that matter, any newspaper providing coverage on the subject.

It shouldn't matter if these women were playing frisbee in the dark, or collecting bottle caps....they are dead, and that's all there is to it.



http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20070120.wpickton20/CommentStory/Front/home#comment574442

Someone you don't know well will be out to get what he or she can from you. Consider what you can do from home to make your life better or more comfortable. Today is about you and the ones you love. 5 stars

When I read silly horoscopes, they make me not want to leave the house. My bed and I are currently at a stand-off. Insomnia has returned but then I didn't expect a reprieve for long. As I enjoy my first cup of hot coffee, I listen to the CBC in the background, and Buckley has had his time to frolic in the snow of the front yard, I plan a veggie breakfast at first light.

That's right, it's only 7 a.m right now, a perfectly acceptable time to be up and about in the morning but not if you've been awake since 2 a.m.

I *hate* this. I'm hoping that once I get back to work, my lack of sleep will cease to matter and I'll get on with the business of living. I plan on jumping headfirst into whichever job calls me first, and forgeting the pain of awareness. Darn Sartre.

Anyhow, it's a bit lighter outside now. I can scare my neighbours by donning an old winter coat, several scarves and a hat with ear flaps to walk Buckley around the block for a bit, if for just to enjoy another cup of freaking hot coffee when we get back.

Right now, I am considering applying Tung oil to my old hardwood floors. I feel the need to make them....pretty. This is ironic, since I haven't finished painting the kitchen yet. Ha.

We
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Remember when things seemed so much simpler. I like you. I would like to eat Vietnam food for dinner, etc. Now, it seems these things crowd my brain, not in any kind of enlightening way. Just sort of like oatmeal, all stuffed into a sock. That's what it feels like.

I overcooked the spaghetti squash. It still looks edible, so I may attempt it when it cools. Right now, I'm waiting for my bedsheets to dry so I can make the bed, all fresh and clean smelling.

Sometimes, I like wallowing in the past. Because, I knew what my feelings were, I knew what I wanted in life, I thought I had it figured out. I thought I was in love, I thought I'd met someone who was the perfect foil character in my life. Turns out he just had a walk-on role. Better than nothing, I suppose, right?

But memories leave a bad taste in my mouth. They feel so self-indulgent and decadent. Best saved for a hedonistic sort of mood, maybe.

This is what happens when I look at that painting.

this is an entry that you may not want to read. I haven't wanted to write anything other than meal ideas for the past week because my head is full of worry. I'm like an ostrich that way, if I don't acknowledge it, then it's not really there. That didn't work this time.

those eyes
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I was going to be more careful with this journal about posting photos of my face but today, this night, I don't really care. Maybe it's because my ego is floating around my ankles at the moment for unexplainable reasons, or it could be the lorazepam. That stuff comes in handy, sometimes. Very, very rarely. And only when I am at my most calculating.

Panic about not finding a job, not having anyone call me back about a job, not having enough job listings to choose from. I am behind on some bills and had to come up with a payment arrangement in order to not lose my car. Like I said, being unemployed sucks ass. I can breathe easy (theoretically) now that there is such an arrangement in place, but it doesn't solve the immediate problem of having no job or no money.

Panic. Holding it back with no will, and a tiny little pill.

You know, I've even applied for jobs like sales clerk or assistant manager of a small retail store, but because I have a degree, I'm apparently over-qualified. I need a job, shouldn't that be enough to qualify me? Stop looking at the degree for god's sake, not as if it's helping at the moment.

I can tell it's bothering me on a few levels. With writing, art, photography. Anything I do feels tainted. I don't want to take a photograph and 5 months from now, think oh right...that was when I was feeling really shitty, I remember that. As if I'd forget.

Anyway, it's back to a book I've already read, and music I've already heard, but maybe that will be enough to bring some comfort on this cold wintery night. I had to slip that in there because it's finally snowing.

The whining part of this journal is now over. Please resume your positions.

Savoy Cabbage
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Inspired by a cooking show (no, not the one where they chopped a live chicken's head off) where I finally got to see the secret to cooking spagetti squash, I went to the grocery store again (twice in as many days!) and picked up two. My thinking is if I mess one up really badly, I have another on hand to try again if the mood suits.

But when I got home, I changed my mind. I decided to stir fry chow mein noodles with savoy cabbage (I always wanted to buy one of those but had no idea what to do with it), mushrooms, hot peppers and onions. I think it took longer than usual, most likely because I don't really know what I'm doing, but the end result was pretty good. And given the fact that I'm not hanging over the toilet with food poisoning right now, I would call it an overall success.

Maybe I'll try the squash thing tomorrow. I also stopped at Chapter's to look at vegetarian cookbooks but didn't see anything that I would likely attempt to cook. I'm more of a simple kind of girl. So I picked up an older Stephen King novel and went to buy cabbage.

I'm feeling very reclusive today. I want to lock all the doors, turn off the phone and huddle in my bed under a nightlight reading some impressively thick book that will have me asleep in minutes (as if it were that easy). Images of a face come to mind and I'm uncomfortable with the sorts of feelings it stirs up. So, that's the plan.

Lights going out now.

And hopefully working. If anything is wonky and won't link you to the expected place, drop me a line and I'll do my best to fix it. Eventually. Just scroll ALL the way down and there you will find the beginning of my life on the internet. Heh. Have fun.

But now it's bed time. This whole circadian thing has me on my head and wondering where my guts went.

Oh yeah. Night, kiddies.

Being unemployed sucks ass. I know that it gives me unlimited time to make love (read: to do obscene things) with my cameras and laptop, but really....after you've gotten off X amount of times, how much more fun can you have with it, without needing to miss it for awhile?

I'm a delayed gratification kind of girl. I like to want something. Having all I want at my fingertips (such as time, time and well...more time) just doesn't get my juices running. I know. Whiner. Complainer. Blah, blah, blah.

A year ago, I was complaining about not having enough time to devote to my artistic beauty (read: fingerpainting). But being an artist, I thought that was what it was all about. The inception, not the actual carrying out. Coming up with the ideas is super easy but faced with a blank canvas or an empty compact flash card and I'm a dithering mess. Most of the time.

Ok, enough complaining. Now I have to go outside and get some stuff done. I'm going to go see if I can get a pretty face so I can be featured in Merkley???'s
http://threequestionmarks.com/blog/blog.html coffee table book. But I suspect I outweigh the average model by 50 pounds. What can I say?

I'm generous. Bountiful. Rubenesque. Burlesque. HA. Pretty words to say eff ay tee.

love,
G.

grocery list
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Bean sprouts cost 66 cents a pound. I think I bought a pound and a half. They are for the 'asian' cooking that I pretend I know how to do. Pick favourite vegetables and throw in pan, stir fry, salt, eat. That's my idea of Gish's asian cooking.

Since I decided to go vegetarian, the grocery store mocks me with it's juicy chicken thighs and hunks of spare ribs. Why are they called 'spare'? I'm sure this has been answered somewhere else in this world's history. Everyone laughs at me when I tell them I just can't eat meat right now. Go ahead, laugh. I don't have any concrete reasons for why, it just turns my stomach when I think about what's on my plate, was a living breathing thing not so long ago.

My sister (a reformed Veg) tells me to eat fish. Ugh, another thing I don't like. So I buy some of the really bad captain highliner stuff to ease myself into it. That, and I don't know how to cook real fish so that I don't barf when I try to eat it.

You know, next week it could be something different. I may decide to give up food altogether and try a liquid diet. Or just decide to eat breakfast cereal until I get sick of it. God knows I change my mind like the weather.

Is it bed time, yet?

p.s I love you, Craig. Feel better soon.

I lost my binoculars. The ones I found you with. I remember the day they first caught you in their line of sight. Fog rolled in off the water like unfurling yards of smoky, grey fabric. The sand, damp from the heavy air. Grainy bits of the beach stuck to my knees as I tried for photos of the silky waves that licked the shoreline. Droplets of moisture dripped from the ends of my hair, I brushed them away from my eyes but they ran down my skin, heedless of my fingers. Then, there in my viewfinder, you came into focus.

You were walking, your footsteps seamless with the shore and the water. Black, curly hair teased by the wind, your hands jammed deep into your pockets, I liked the way your skin looked in the damp air. I just watched as you walked along, until your figure was blurred by the edges of the fog.

A slight whoosh and I could feel the rocks and the sand beneath me again, the damp in the air on my skin. Water in my pores. I gathered my things, and left the beach that day. But I came back the same time, the next morning, hoping the magic of the fog would let me see your blurred edges again, with my binoculars.

Like a truck on fire, the world is white and so hot, wrapped around my eyes.

once I was invisible for all the world to see
During one of the numerous bouts of insomnia, I caught this 'documentary' (more commonly referred to as a Mockumentary but I dislike the word for whatever reason) about a fictional character called Guy Terrifico. It was great. Hands down, fabulous. The cinematography was amazing, it felt like I really was watching old video clips from the 1970's. I love the feeling of authentic, even when it's not. If you want to catch the movie, it's called The Life and Hard Times of Guy Terrifico. You'll love it, it wil make you laugh....and remind you of how pretty Kris Kristofferson used to be.
Mr. Terrifico...

turns out to be some talented pretty boy from Halifax, Matt Murphy (in real life). He's become part of a new band called City Field, which is pretty good if you ever happen to be around to catch a show. Fun times.

Ok, so the painting of the kitchen is not going very well. I'm too short (yes, even I am too short for some things), and the idea of perching on the edge of a counter trying to get behind my weird kitchen cabinets, doesn't really appeal to me. So for now, I live in a half painted kitchen the colour of Marigolds. I can deal, there are worse things right? Like melting ice caps and Global Warming....

Eventually, I'm going to get pissed off and procure a credit card so I can discover iTunes like every other normal person on this planet. Just so I can get full Twilight Singers albums. Does no one else listen to these guys??? They're amazing. GO forth and Google, I say.

I've taken to drinking decaf coffee in an attempt to cut out caffiene so that I'm wired for only part of the day, as opposed to the entire 24 hours. I have gotten more sleep (god bless pharmacology) and my bed has become a haven, once again. Plumped up pillows, and soft weightless sheets. A nest that I settle into, when I am finally ready to slip underwater.

Like now. Let's go for a swim, you and I...

The Conversation - The Twilight Singers

Labels: Guy Terrifico, home improvement, Kris Kristofferson, Twilight Singers, underwater

dead like me...?
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I'm sitting here at 3:15 in the morning. I can't sleep (I know, I am sick of saying it too). Here's a photo I took the other day. Something ethereal or underwater-like about it. Maybe I've drowned in my sleep.

I know one thing that has been active in my mind since a late night telephone call with ummm...someone I trust implicitly (I don't know why....is this fate?) and the ideas born from that phonecall kept me up all night, researching job oppourtunies.

For those of you that don't know, I'm unemployed (you can boo and hiss at your own misfortune someday, my dear) and have been actively looking for a job for awhile now, especially since I moved to London (where there are more offers, than in the North). It turns out, there are a gazillion jobs for my profession in....are you ready? Pennsylvania. Yup. I could even become quaker, you never know. Just kidding.

Anyway, so now I'm thinking of moving there for a year to experience life not in Canada. It's 8 hours from where I sit, at this moment in time. I know someone there. I can actually GET a job.

But then, you know me. I'm always full of ideas for what to do next. It's just that, this time, I actually want and can do it. I can.

So, I guess I'll just keep applying for jobs like mad. Mad is afterall, my speciality.

Dr. Pepper and I
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

That's the breaking news. Well, I plan on getting rest. I woke up at 1 a.m. this morning and have been up since. It reminded me that I had to listen to a radio show that was featuring Craig on it, so that was kind of fun. Then I went out and bought some new pillows, and a big fluffly body pillow to curl around. And clean sheets that smell like they were dried on a clothes line. And sleep, blissful sleep. Maybe, tonight.

I also started painting the kitchen orange. Well, the colour is called 'Marigold Blossom'. It looks orange to me, but maybe it will go a bit yellow with the second coat. Either way, it looks warm in that room now. I'm interested to see what it will look like in the morning sunlight. I do get sick of the grey that people seem to think is sophisticated. Give me colour or go home, I say (to myself).

Buckley freaking out about the paint, but is being a good sport about not bothering me while I'm on my hands and knees concentrating on the old fashioned base boards that are 10 inches high. God, I love things that give an apartment character. The original wood mouldings in the house are great. The hardwood has those inlays that make me smile goofily when I notice them. And the stained glass front door. What more could I need?

Posted some photos on Flickr. There is one photo where I look like I've drowned. Hair floating in water. Ethereal would be a good adjective.

Ok. Bed time. I've sent a letter to the Twilight Singers and maybe they'll post their lyrics some place. I would like to know what the first few lines in The Lure Would Prove too Much, as well.
Nighty, beauties.

message home
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I feel like sending a message home, lighting little smoky fires to tell everyone I'm ok. An old version of mass emailing. It's interesting, sometimes distressing at how well I've isolated myself. I think also, that speaks to the degrees of friendship I had once had. They must have been surface relationships that proved to be too flimsy for life's little surprises. I don't know why that surprises me, at all. It's easy to lay the blame in my corner. I'm told that's because I take it. In my mind, why fight over what's broken anyway?

It takes a stronger person than I, to love me.

Supposed to be sleeping, I awoke a little while ago. Haunting Flickr and scrutinising my images for flaws I hadn't noticed before. No photographs for a couple of days, insomnia robbed my eyes of the colours I wanted to see. I did pick up some photo frames that I actually plan on filling this week. Sometime. It's difficult to decide what to print when I have more than 10,000 photos lingering in this hard drive. I had an idea of cramming every inch of wall space with photographs. But that's unlikely to happen. Putting nails in the walls for photographs feels like I'm pledging to stay here. Stay in London. Stay on this planet.

And I guess I'm just not sure if that is going to happen. Nothing is predictable, at this point.

I hate when my horoscope says I should stay in the house. Makes the day have a shade of impending doom, even though I don't put a lot of stock on horoscopes. It's something that I read when I read the paper. Which I guess, is every day. Ok, I guess I read them almost every day.

A late dinner with a friend tomorrow evening, coffee with someone else and maybe a visit with Number 1 and my little tiny, nephew. I don't know.

fetishes
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I picked up some photography work this weekend. I'm not really one to wax on about what other people get off on, I figure that's their business as long as it's not hurting anyone, so shooting fetish work wasn't much of a big deal. But a friend of mine introduced me to a bunch of fetishes I never knew existed. I was by turns repulsed and interested to photograph it. It was only when I finally saw the art of the fetish, that I was able to shoot without judgement. This photograph is tame compared to the rest.

Oh my god, I'm a pornographer now.
Gah.

Just kidding. Busy the past few days with things that have erupted (in a good way) in my little life. Buckley gets almost a daily walk in the park before it gets dark. I meet up with 'whoever' for coffee and idle chit-chat that is loaded with the fun sort of landmines. Only my sleep is my biggest complaint. When I finally did manage to grab a couple of hours this morning, my favourite dreams of you still wash ashore I had a dream that stayed with me all day. I'm sure it's just something that will come to me, now and then, to remind me of how I can fall so hard that it jars my teeth. Knees scraped by cold pavement.

In other news, looks like my longtime crush on Tea Party man, Stuart Chatwood has been usurped in a tie by Nick Drake and Pete Yorn in this year's "Who Does Gish Adore" awards. Chats now holds 4th place. Mr. Chatwood could not be reached for comment.

There's a neat little thing that D. introduced me to a couple of weeks ago. You can actually leave voice messages for someone with this handy little thing.

so go on...leave me a message. Click here...? http://profile.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=user.viewprofile&friendid=10937163

Maybe it's past my bedtime, now.

egyptian cotton
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

One of the things about not being able to sleep, or being labeled an 'insomniac' which sounds so self-indulgent if I may say, is that you get to see the times of day and night that a lot of other's don't. Or catch movies on television that you say you will watch but hope to fall asleep during.

For instance, the sky gradually lightening to a grey in early morning, before it even thinks it's blue (even though technically, I guess it's not). I like watching the city rouse itself out of bed for work. More so in the summer, than the winter, for whatever reasons.

I love the Elizabethtown soundtrack. It's something that makes me melty, it's so good. When I fell asleep at 12 last night and woke at 3, I knew it was for good so I just got up and puttered around the house until now. One little phone call to take care of and then maybe I'll jump into that bed (new bed, by the way) and wrap myself up in those white egyptian cotton sheets, attempting to sleep again. Ryan Adams on the little stereo and maybe some Craig Bancroff too. Sounds like I'm ordering lunch, huh?

It's like food, I suppose. It's hard to force it down when you have no appetite.

Bed should be considered, by all intents and purposes, a good thing. A safe place to let your guard down and sink underwater. Frustrating, because I feel as though I've talked about this so much in my waking hours (har, har). There are only so many pictures one can take of the same wall, my dear.

stay
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Sometimes, I think Mother Nature has a twisted sense of humour. And because I'm a woman, I can say that from one girl to another, with a completely straight face. Then I get to thinking about bio-chemistry and how levels of hormones or amino acids (huh?) play a huge role in how we interact with anyone else on this planet. Or how we eat breakfast cereal, or put our socks on (standing up or sitting down?), or change cds in midafternoon traffic.

I wonder if hormones are really enough to make us lose our heads in conversations, situations, god...life, even. Makes us do crazy things. Like that last entry. All day, I tossed the idea of deleting it, back and forth. Too much emotion and information, were my reasons.

Then I said, Fuck it. And left it up.

my favourite dreams of you still wash ashore...
One thing about me is how predictable I can be. Especially when it comes to certain people. I can delete three years worth of email, throw out cds, pictures, etc and still some little...something is hanging around. I change apartments, clothes, towns, jobs. And some things stay the same. It's a bit comforting, but also frustrating.
though it all looks different now, I know it's still the same...

That's what the photo is about, I suppose. I took that this afternoon.

Something I can never have - Nine Inch Nails

Still There
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Always on the other end of that lens. You know. You're the one I'm looking at. You're the one that I'm focusing on in order to get a good shot.
I guess I don't really focus on the things that I need. Like sleep. It frustrates me to no end that I'm wide awake at 3 in the morning like clockwork, no matter where I am or who I am with. That's why I stopped having sleepovers. Those 3 a.m. wake up times became mini 'thinking' times, and before you know it, I never liked who was lying in my bed.

I came to this realisation that I had to like whomever I slept with. Would I want to be friends with this person? Would I invite him back for coffee or some herby tea if we were buddies? Would I give him a spare key to feed the cat while I was away?

No. So, my bed has been somewhat empty these past few weeks. In a manner of speaking. And then before I knew what had really happened, this man made his way into my life and really, has brightened things up around here. In a completely platonic manner. And I can't get over how nice it is to hear him on the other end of that telephone wire (yes, I'm stuck in the dark ages) talk about things, concepts and ideas, half-hearted theories for future experiments, existential no-no's that most people avoid.

We embrace them. Hug them to ourselves because it feels like the caffiene in the coffee. And I say platonic, because I want to know him for as long as possible before I break it. Because we all know how good I break things. Maybe I'll be extra gentle. Maybe I'll wear kid gloves when I handle the aspects of our relationship. Nurture it in this little pot of compost and see where it can take us. Like the infamous beanstalk.

Now, I sound like a crackpot.

Imagery came to mind tonight when Craig and I were on the telephone tonight. He talked about going to see his grandparent's old house, with a cracked window pane, the same curtains, a chalkboard on Pine Road. He was looking for ghosts. Looking in that green chair, and in the backyard where there is a swingset surrounded by a grassy lawn and a chain-link fence. This house had to be in New Jersey (just kidding, Craig).

He sings little pieces of songs on the telephone, and they are performances that could not be duplicated. A passing moment in time. Gone before I knew it.

I'm just trying to figure out what people mean to me, inside my heart. You know, you keep your distance for a long enough time, it's more comfortable to stay who you think you are, instead of venturing into who you could be. Food for thought. Something that tells me I'll have to let Craig in a little more so he can really know me.

Thing is and I've said this before, once I slow down long enough to let them in, I usually scare the crap out of them. Oh man...a Catch 22. Or is this just what I tell myself because really I'm the one that's scared.

A valuable friend came to me when I least expected it, and I guess I'm a little...too much me, I guess. Just to put the words out of my head feels good.

That and I'm high because the sleeping pill I took made me so, instead of doing it's real job.

Back to the trenches, my beauties.

Labels: Craig, how not to be an idiot, relationships

if my eyes were blue
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

My life definitely needs a soundtrack, otherwise it's just a bunch of scenes put together by a mad projectionist. I don't know where that came from.

Last night, I figured out (to my surprise) that I can charge the battery of my old camera in the new charger. So, that meant I had to rediscover everything that used to make my heart go pitter/patter with that camera. The above was taken with the old nightshot. My ego, for everyone to see*sigh*

I called people to wish them a Happy New Year (because I think that's what we're supposed to do) and caught Craig in the shower. See, it's times like these that I'm glad I'm me, because only this sort of shit would happen to me. Trying to multi-task, Craig talks to me while he's in the shower, which now that I think about it, is kinda sexy. But it was mostly funny. He always makes me laugh.

I had more to write about, but in between chat conversations, the telephone and other stuff floating around in my head, I lost my 'real' train of thought. I have a new bed, though. Know how I spent the night? Sleepless. I kept running which kind of coffee makers I could buy through my head. A cheap coffee press, or maybe something slick like my sister has. Yes, that is what I thought about while I couldn't sleep.

At least this time, I have an excuse: new bed.
ha.