I want to eat that last donut in the next office. And I don't even like Bostom Cream. Ick.

When I am working at my desk, I get cold. My nose is so cold, it feels not a part of me. My feet, although encased in socks are still freezing. Invariably, my routine is that I run home and jump in a scalding hot tubful of water to warm up before nesting on the couch to watch reruns of CSI.

How can anyone not like that show? And why am I so cold? Is it because I am eating zero fat?

One of my coworkers left almost 2 hours ago for lunch, she wanted me to cover her for 10 minutes. Meanwhile, I'm starving and hopping to get out of the office for a few minutes. I have to buy more Diet Dr. Pepper so I want to run to Wal-mart before it becomes clogged with friday afternoon payday shoppers. And maybe a new toy for Buckley.

I haven't picked up my camera in over two weeks. Ok, that's a lie. I have picked it up, I just haven't taken any photographs. There just hasn't been any inspiration for it, even though I have several props that would go well with what I want to photograph (when the mood strikes). When is the past really the past?

When both parties forget it ever happened. I need a labotomy. Stat! Just kidding. I'm going to save money for that trip to Amsterdam.

there's just so many things I want to do in a hotel in Amsterdam. It looks so good on paper.

9:26 a.m.
Addiction to banana pudding discovered. Will investigate further.

9:35 a.m.
Banana pudding supply exhausted. Investigation suspended until further notice. In the meantime, informal meeting with cigarette to be held outside in 3 minutes. Such short notice. Coffee cup is nearly empty: potential disaster. Will have to scrounge for change in car for another.

9:36 a.m.
Am late for meeting with cigarette.

9:37 a.m.
The hallway is blocked by some guy filming a coworker in her office. Who needs a tripod for that? Took covert photographs of cameraman, he is not pleased. Am still late for cigarette meeting, unable to leave building.

9:40 a.m.
Cannot understand why coffee cups are never winning Roll up the Rim to Win contest. Perhaps there is treachery at Tim Horton’s.

9:51 a.m.
Meeting completed. Freezing cold outside despite sunshine. What a day to wear no socks.

10:03 a.m.
have 3 files now. Trying to spread out writing two letters over the next 5 hours.

10:04 a.m.
just noticed am only one in the office.

10:15 a.m.
Coffee all GONE. Three bottles of flavoured water seem unappetizing. Miss banana pudding.

10:19 a.m
Wish briefly, that am at home in hot bath.

10:20 a.m.
back to work, staring at computer screen.

I got a note recently from someone I used to tussle with in the past. Nothing earth shattering but it got me thinking. Certain songs and bands remind me of this person but other than that, I can’t think of anything else that makes him stand out. He is, the perfect lesson in mediocrity. He doesn’t do any particular thing well, he just sort of does everything. In kind of a shitty way. That thought made me sad. His poor wife.

In any event, I’m in the thick of buying a yoga/pilates mat, spending inordinate amounts of time looking at exercise balls (I still haven’t really figured out their true function) and comparing exercise clothing to the closet of items I already own that lives in my head. I know it’s all in vain: I will never be a thin girl. And if it turns out that I am, it’s probably because I’ve taken up a new drug habit or starting substituting gin for water. Who knows.

Email. I love it. But then I hate it. Just when I think I’ve made plans, another email comes in to tell me the location of planned walk-with-crazy-dog has changed. *After* I’ve bought a new leash at the dollar store on my lunch hour (which is part of the plan to make Buckley OBEY).

So, we’ll meet up somewhere else and then I get to go home. I’m expecting a couple of things in the mail, so it sort of sucks I am at work instead of waiting in front of the door (like my little terrier) for the door bell to ring. Yeah, I just wrote that sentence.

So, that’s it. My apartment is a disaster (good frame of reference as to how things are in my head), work is still boring. And I’m still waiting for something interesting to happen. I’m told to be patient.

I should have told him that patience has never been one of my strong points.

My body was being carried with the momentum of my car. Time, like a drop of falling water stopped, while I contemplated my choices. The cab of the enormous tractor trailer swerving towards the hood of my car, the squeal of the tires, a soft siren. Choice: to brake or stomp on the gas pedal. A burning cigarette in my hand, a cup of coffee falling to the floor. My heart beating an impossible number on the inside of my chest as I realized this could be my one chance to exit gracefully, with a bow.

Press the gas, my mind whispered. Press with your right foot, the pedal to the floor.

Common knowledge in cases such as car accidents, especially on a 400 series highway, is that any kind of collision would be life threatening, certainly debilitating. Imagine the odds of the accident being a fatality if one were to speed into the crash as opposed to braking or swerving.

Imagine.

struggling to get underwater. It's time I was sleeping so I can get up extra early to blow dry my 1.5 foot long hair style. It's nights like these I wish I was a bob haircut kind of girl.

Green bananas, I like to buy them that way. I chopped up a bunch of vegetables and put them away for my lunch tomorrow. Trying to eat things that are healthy. That doesn't seem to stop me from buying a bag of chips. No more of that this week, though.

Oh, Little Debbie, Little Debbie...

I joined a gym, haven't been yet. I want to take part in the evening yoga and pilates classes. Maybe I'll find my centre. It's really hard to get to somewhere after being derailed. Hard not to stay derailed.

I think my email is broken. Hard to connect.

I got caught in the rain this morning, coming out of the courthouse after a rather contentious hearing. Big, fat drops that soaked my sweater and hair despite the fact that I put the hood up. I looked like something from Lord of the Rings, or similar, with my little bangs and black hood. Executioner, perhaps?

But I like this kind of weather. It makes me want to insulate myself in my jammies, with tea and toast, watching a movie on television. And the sound of the rain on the window beside me. Buckley, asleep in his new ‘donut’ bed on the floor beside the couch. I would use strawberry jam on my toast. The tea I have comes in little triangle silk pouches. Even my tea bags are beautiful.

Myspace is being a little jerk with me today, I can look for messages but I can’t seem to read them. God, I love the sound of rain on the windows. Close your eyes and pretend you can hear it. What does it make you feel like?

Thunder in the distance. Yesterday, I spent a fair amount of time with a friend on the phone before running over to have decaf coffee with my sister. I had stopped to pick up a little something for my little nephew, unable to decide between the blue duck or the yellow bunny. I went for the bunny. He carried it around with him when I gave it to him. I always envision the sensitive, caring man he will become. And as always, it reminds me of the holes there are in my life.

Remember, it’s all about me, baby.

Spending time in an office for most of the day lately has me exhausted by the time 5 p.m. rolls around. I watch CSI and read a book, unable to decide what to have for dinner. Last night was a handful of All dressed potato chips. I have zero appetite lately.

Anyway, I’d better go before I get busted for surfing the net while I’m supposed to be. Working. Miss me?

To say I pay attention to my surroundings and how that would affect me would be a gross understatement. I have complete tunnel vision when I'm out and about, doing whatever it is that I fill my time with. Even with work. I should be paying more attention to who or what is around me, if there is a possibility I could get hurt or worse.

I was thinking about this because I got an email from a fellow worker from 'way back when' and I recalled how she had been beaten by a client in his mother's home. I recall how the ambulance attendants wouldn't enter the house until the police had cleared it, understandable but also leaving her to lie in a pool of her own blood. As one of her team mates, my practice was changed in that I viewed everyone I worked with as a potential perpetrator.

Eventually, work demands and other things pushed that view away and I got caught up in trying to play catch up with my job.

I don't knwo why I'm writing about this now, maybe it's because I just finished two days of training that is apparently designed to make workers like me, less asshole-ish. I'm not sure how i personally feel about it, but professionally, I think it's innovative and inspiring. Practice makes perfect, though, right?

I'm a social worker, but I can't say where I work, only that I work with children. The private constraints of my job are also understandable but give me little room to clear my head with anyone other than myself. So I write cryptic entries about fears and other things.

work is work.
For now.

Oh my god, I hate the first day at new jobs! And oh my god, I said oh my god!!!

I feel like I've been walking around wearing a pink tutu with green tights or something. I feel like my hair is all wrong, I'm too fat, I'm too tall, I'm too me, to be here. I want to run home and hide under my new blue blanket and pretend that money is not necessary for life and I can live a perfectly happy, if secluded life of my own, underneath that blanket. I could take the occasional call from my mother, and I would call Craig all the time to hear what it looks like in his neck of the woods.

I could do that. Me and Buckley. Two peas in a pod.

I'm just being a baby. Here I am, with what I wanted, everything is falling into my lap and all is well, I should be happy. I know it's just a phase. After the first week, I will be fine. I just need to find my sea legs. Work legs.

Something like that.

It's funny, though. They all expected me, waiting with baited breath for me to arrive and it's such a triumph for them to get a new worker, I feel like I have been on a parade float all day, waving and shaking hands. I wonder if I will have the guts to ask for a raise. *grin* Just kidding.

Arg, and I forgot to take off the week old blue nail polish last night, it's flashing up at me while I type this. I've been up since 5:45, drinking coffee and slowly getting ready for work. I only changed my shirt three times. And the one I have on still doesn't feel right. But it's ok. It's ok.

I wish my new shoes would arrive. *sigh*

Labels: coffee, drama, how not to be an idiot, job, work, writing

what my mother's driving brings out in me
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
It's been an interesting week; a job offer, my dog runs away, I buy a monstrous purple lamp, I watch Borat, I lose the wine corkscrew, and ok I have run out of things to say. So maybe not that interesting.

Buckley got out of the house last night when I came home. I tried to get him but he ran two blocks towards the river where I lost sight of him in the woods by the river's edge. I ran back to the house, got in my car and drove around for half an hour looking for him. I was hysterical. In my head, I thought about how it seemed I couldn't even take care of a little dog at this point in my life to lose him so easily. I gave up and came home.

He was sitting on the front steps. I am convinced it's divine intervention.

Since then, my mother has gone back up North after spending a week here (she stayed at my sister's). They stopped and picked up Marble this morning (he spent the week with me). I spent the day reading my way through the two boxes of books, drinking diet Dr. Pepper and cuddling Buckley.

I start my new job on Monday. I've already decided to buy a new car before the summer. It will be a bitter decision between what I want to spend, and what I've always wanted: a VW Golf TDI.

The thing with things is that I'm still in that hazy feeling of not really placing a lot of value on stuff. That sounds bad, but what I really mean is, I don't really care to own a lot of things. Everything I own is second hand, with the exception of candles or other disposable items and it doesn't bother me in the least. It's not something that even crosses my mind. I love things that have character, which would explain why I took this apartment.

So, when it comes to a new car, I'm hesitant in the strictest sense of the word. I don't want to be apathetic when it comes to that new plateau in my life. There are so many things to think about. What's morally right and wrong. How I can make a difference in someones life with my work. What can I do to change the political environment in my country. What I can do to ease the burden I am creating just by *breathing*, on the environment. Ad nausea um.

It may not seem like a big deal, easy to brush those bigger concerns to someone else, etc. But, when I don't have something to live for, it's too easy to fall in that hole again. And I know I can't be in that hole long before I'm covered in dirt.

Fruity, fresh white wine is in my glass and my friend Rose sends me this link. I've been giggling over it for an hour. Too funny. Click and listen all the way through.
http://youmakemetouchyourhandsforstupidreasons.ytmnd.com/

I love the title.
Talk to me,
love, Gish

Sometimes, there are no exits. Or they are blocked off in such a way that you, as the person needing to escape, could not get through.

Everywhere I am, I look for the exits. It's rare I find one that fits me, so to speak. Thus, I am usually stuck in a jam doing something I don't want to, or in a conversation that bores me to sleep (which, in retrospect given my insomniac tendancies, may not be such a bad thing).

It's been a good couple of weeks. My new methods seem to be doing the trick. It will be interesting to see (if) how well I'll sleep when I'm back at work full time next week. In case you didn't read the last entry, I'm returning to the sort of Social Work I have a lot of experience in. I'm a social worker, and sometimes I get things done. At the end of this week, I'll be at the local women's shelter, volunteering with some crisis intervention sessions for the women staying there.

It's always easier to do for someone else, than it is for yourself, I find.

I was thinking about changing the name of this journal to the subject title. My current title is The Fine Art of Falling Apart. I admire Mattie in his daily struggle to keep breathing and perservering and at the time I started this new blog, I had completely fallen apart and thought it an apt title.

Decisions, decisions. I would just like for things to be easy for once, you know? I want to write like I used to. Off the cuff, sweet romanticising of 24 hour supermarkets and my humour. I miss my humour, you know?

I used to be funny.
love,
Gish

Labels: how not to be an idiot, insomnia, inspiration, Matthew Good, music, underwater, witness, writing

craig bancoff
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene
Late night phone calls are the best. I say this because that is when I am usually lounging around in bed, reading a book or watching t.v. I'm jsut a night person. I prefer the dark. Maybe it's to keep my visible flaws to myself. Who knows.

In any event, Craig and I on the phone last night, talking about everything as usual. I have to say (and I haven't said this before) but I love this man. He's managed to make a place for himself in my heart and my head. I'm so glad he's my friend.

Ok, I started this entry ages ago and have been surfing and photo watching, I get a call in the middle of it and it's the job place. The place where I applied over a month ago. Offering me a position.

So, seeing as I don't currently have a job...I accepted.

Thank fucking Christ I am now employed.

Labels: Craig, Craig Bancroff, Gish, how not to be an idiot, inspiration

my new writing machine
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
If I were the classier sort of girl, that typewriter up there would be an Underwood. I have to find some ribbons for it. It will be a bit like being a detective to find the right ones. I really have no idea how to start.

I've eaten about 5 chocolate Popsicles tonight. Something about the texture is really appealing to me every time I pass by the fridge. And now that I want to go to sleep, the guy who lives upstairs is testing out his bass equipment. I wonder if I have enough moxy to knock on the ceiling with the broom handle, as though I live in prewar New York City.

I've rediscovered the song Black by Pearl Jam. So, I've been falling asleep to the sad story every night.

I really am going to die alone and Buckley will chew my knuckles and wrists for food while he waits for family to realise it's been a couple of week since anyone has heard from me and come calling.

yup.
Whatever.

Labels: Gish, habits, home improvement, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, neurotic, opinions, Sylvia Plath, zopiclone

cleavage {18/365}
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

First, when I think of love, marriage, or the connection two people can experience in two second standing over a candy machine being introduced, I think of little photographs I would like to take. His kissing of the inside of my knee. Whoever he is, sleepy eyed and freshly awakened by my moments in bed on a sunny Saturday afternoon. His hands on my face. His hands in mine. Him. Whoever he is. That's what I think of, when I think of what it would like to be in love. I think I have it all wrong. But that's ok! Because I wouldn't want to spoil my near perfect record.

Some news drifted this way about a Hawksley Workman show, and I think I will attend because it's been awhile since he was my man. *grin* Sorry folks, only Matt Good and Hawksley fans would 'get' that last little bit.

I just realised how melancholy the song; Purple Rain is. Melancholy in that all I didn't know I had, when I had it. Shit, I hate when that happens.

I'm practically chain smoking over here, about to go lie down and try for some sleep, read a bit and listen to a movie in the background.

Let's see what is new with me: new fridge (landlord paid for, of course), new gym membership (because I really am too fat for words, at the moment), new webcam (which is so seedy but I couldn't resist the portability and the fact that I have never ever, ever been on a webcam before), and I guess that's it.

Ok, so here is the end of the entry. If you've read this far then you'll know that what you read below, is not my writing but that of Hawksley Workman. And if he were real and not an apparition, he is the sort I would fall in love with.

written by Hawksley:
the downy feathered chests of proud hawks sitting timeless in highway sidetrees. and this morning i was up so early. pissed outside under thestars. 5:30 am. i thought of winter ravens. that maybe they fly atnight. imperceptibly. between the dots of bright galaxies. and the batsmust be asleep through this. skied through the cold today. a pure blueconnection from me to the beyond. the horses wore blankets in immaculatefields. there's a natural order to things. harmony is the only option.did aristotle say the birds flew under the ice in winter? i'm incrediblypositive these days. i see possibilities. i see hope. it's been a funnywhile in the music biz, i must admit. over the last year or so i'verecorded a lot of music. my love and faith is restored every time i playlive these days... but the studio is testing me... my patience, myfaith. i feel the deck stacked against me... but i've never felt morefocused and fresh... i made a record... finished it before christmas.somewhere between then and now it was shelved in favour of starting over again from scratch. the record felt like a lover i grew apart from...when it was finally completed we looked like strangers to each other.kiss... it's been lovely... i need to be alone. i've been working with my brilliant neighbour and friend andre wahl... he's a real clever kid who, back in the autumn picked me up and dusted me off... so we're planning to start again for real this time... early march. as i said earlier... playing reminds me of the importance of connection... i feel blessed to be able to travel and play. the starling tour saved my life... again i thank all those who shared those nights with me... it was amassive reconnection with myself and the music. over the next while i'm going to play a few shows... get back in shape... i want my voice to soar (not a sore voice though) when i get back into the studio... so please i say... reach for what's positive... cherish love and peace...seek it in heart and mind... i have such a wonderful feeling for the year. may wisdom be yours too. h.

Labels: Apostle, cold, drama, fridge, habits, hawksley, hawksley workman, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, late night, layers, love, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, opinions, Prince, webcam, writing

OK first things first: Has anyone other than myself, heard Willie Nelson's version of Leonard Cohen's SMASH hit Hallelujah? Raise your hands, if you have heard this cover. Don't worry, no on can see, just raise your hand for a final count.

There are so many versions out there ought to be a cut off point somewhere along the line.

So, I officially here and now, declare the cut off point. No more covers of this song that is called Hallelujah by Leanord Cohen. The man has enough money at this point in his life, and even if you think it's the crowning glory on your newest record, he probably doesn't really care. The time to stop is now.

Don't get me wrong. I dig Nelson's (we're on a last name basis now) cover of the song. In fact, I would put it as my second favourite cover of this particular song, given there are about six different versions to be found ranging from Johnny Cash to Rufus Wainright. And those are only the versions that I personally know about.

Enough already.

Because in the grander scheme of things, hands down, the best version of this song is by Jeff Buckley and that is all there is to it. The end. But not really. There have been a lot of changes taking place in the industry they call 'music', when it encompasses so much more than that, these days.

For instance, a lot of the musicians and songwriters are taking power back by spending as much time in the sound booth to ensure what they hear in their heads, is what comes across when you purchase and listen to their art. In this particular cover tune, we have Ryan Adams to thank for the help Nelson recieved in the production of his new record, Song Bird .

I know you think you know what music is. But I have this theory about it. I think of music as an art form, inasmuch as painting, poetry, writing, or sculpting something with your bare hands. And although emulating someone else's sound could be the highest form of flattery.

Sometimes, it's just time to say ok, enough.
So...enough.

Love,
Ms. G

Labels: cover songs, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, Jeff Buckley, late night, music, music opinion, opinions, Ryan Adams, song

my poetry room {15/365}
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Don't break the glass. What's on the other side isn't what will save you. Gather your wits, or maybe start drinking Gin to start, for some liquid courage. Maybe you're going to save a life today but pressing the right elevator button. Or maybe you'll make your mother late for a hair appointment because she was waiting for you to call her back.

I leave little photographs of memories lying around. My memories. I take a self portrait to remind myself that I am really real. Like pure real life moment. Undistilled living. It's almost a hardship, and blasphemous to say so.

Earlier I was worried about memories going bad. I think they do, they degrade as our brain is slowly dying of old age. Worry puts me into action.

But I know in the end, in the grand scheme of things, that it doesn't really matter. And no, I did not mean quote Platinum Blonde on purpose. Completely accidental.

Alive,
Gish.

together {13/365}
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I haven't been paying too much attention to Mrs. John Cusack lately. Not even to sync up with new music. I still have last week's play list on there. I shouldn't neglect my iPod, so.

I'm watching Intervention. I'm sucked into the happy endings that are portrayed after the gritty shots of people smoking Meth. Meth is a funny thing, you know. It takes literally pennies to make, and people are smoking their brains out all over the country. Yet, my sister, the one that bottoms out every 3 months, is not addicted to it at all. She relies on the hillbilly heroin to keep her going, and to pot. I once told my older sister that we should do something, but there isn't anything left to do. We did all the things other people have done when they have an addicted relative.

It just gets to me sometimes. She could be so much.

Urg. This is what goes through my mind when I watch too much A & E.

remember me
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
What I'd really like is a case of Black Cherry Soda, but it appears there is none to be had anywhere in this city. Trust me, I've looked into a few stores. So for tonight, and tomorrow, I suppose, the rest of the week even, it will be something else in my glass.

I was floating on a little high from the homemade wine at the in-laws. Saw some people I hadn't seen since the last time I was unhappy. Oh, that never really ended, did it. Heh, well it was nice. And nicer to have the offer to come to Greece (again), if I ever get off my fat butt to get a passport and a plane ticket. Given my issues....*grin*....it may never happen.

I like the idea of travelling but not so much the actuality. Maybe the only kind I can tolerate is driving, and that's because I'm the one at the wheel. The thought of packing what I consider essential items (which could get me in real trouble if there is a luggage limit) and walking around like a seasoned traveller despite the harried look on my face, and my need to smoke anywhere, is enough to make me say....no. So, out of laziness, nothing happens.

Yep, that sounds about par.

It's snowy here today. I'm about to get into my jammies and see what's on television tonight. I hope it's something good. A & E has really been slacking off lately.

And are the remaining Tea Party men up to something....? Perhaps. http://www.theartdecay.com/ or maybe it was just a rumour I heard somewhere.

Labels: Blach cherry pop, Gish, how not to be an idiot, music, photographs, photography, The Tea Party, writing

Yay!
Thea Piazza and Theo Louie are here, for three months. I haven't seen them for three years when they went home to Greece. In a couple of hours, I'll head on over to visit(and of course gorge on the greek treats that will be laid out like a buffet).

Oh yeah. And I've decided to be an un-vegetarian. More later.
Love,
G.

if I could just make it through tonight, I know that I can change.