Buckley barks at the sound of cars going by on the highway. I ate shrimp cocktail for a mid night snack. I haven't been sleeping for quite some time. My older sister tells me I snore. So I must be getting some sleep at least.

Some movie on A&E is creeping me out, it's called Jesus Camp. Looks like a how-to on training your children to be Christian.

I've been thinking about updating here for the past few days but nothing has come to mind that I thought was worth mentioning. I have been thinking about work, my old work and possible work in the future. Or moving away. Or finding the urge, the drive to change something within myself. Which just isn't there, right now.

I guess the stories of people that feel they get a second chance when the clock strikes midnight, bug me. For me, I don't believe in second chances. I feel as though the first chance is all we get, and when we fuck it up, we just keep going on the same chance.

I haven't had a brake in awhile. Although I don't really believe in it, I kind of hope that 2008 will be better for me. Mostly because 2007 was so bad, I know I wouldn't survive it if I had to do it again, regardless of who came and went in my life.

This is too heavy. I need to shut it down for awhile, just long enough to be underwater for awhile.

So I stubbed my toe again. This time it's pretty bad. It's the second toe and it's angry looking and dark pink. I don't want to go to a doctor because, well....it looks terrible and it's a toe, for God's sake. Just a toe.

Although I suppose it could totally rot and fall off. Hrmmm....

Besides, it's the last Friday before Christmas, I don't think I can find a doctor. And I don't even want anyone to look at it, let alone touch it. Our bodies are so fragile.

Let's talk parking tickets. You know how it's a pain in the ass to get one, and no one likes, in fact people hate getting tickets. Ok, that's been established. OK, then you hear about people freaking out, totally losing it when they get tickets. Alright, we've established there are nutso people who get angry about getting a fine when they park illegally.

So my question is: Why are they so angry when they get a ticket, when it's their own fault for parking like a moron?

oh my god, I just realised I've pissed away most of the day sitting in a lounge chair, dressed in jogging pants and a man's undershirt.

see my heart, I decorated it like a graceAs I may have indicated in the last entry, I had a job interview. It's for a social work position in Nunavut. Crazy? Sure. Exciting? Definitely. But it's not as though I've been offered the position yet, so no need to have a party. My plan was to save so much money and move to New York in the Spring/summer, regardless if I had been accepted into the Social Work program.

Buckley and Marble have the worst breath. They have been playing on the edge of the bed while I attempt to update. I'm listening to Ray Lamontagne, and all I have in my mind are images of driving along endless ribbons of highway in the quiet dusk. Racing the sunset. Summers filled with moments of not knowing what to do with myself.

Heh. Seems as though that feeling is not restricted to the summer season only.Ok, I'm in a funk. I don't really know why, but it may be related to my reading material. I'm reading Her Husband. Hughes and Plath: A Marriage. By Dianne Middlebrook. Informative, perhaps a little too analytical but then I suppose that's the main point. It's hard to read because you know they were doomed from the start.

Hrmmm...imagine if you were doomed from the start....

Labels: melancholy

I don't think I do well in interviews. Wonderful idea: If only I could hire someone to do an interview in my place, using only my knowledge.

I guess I will have to wait for the invention of the good kinds of robots.

I stubbed my toe the other night. And I also cut off most of my hair. The two are not related. My hair used to be about 15 inches (from my shoulders) long, and I decided that I'm tired of it, want a change, lets pretend I can pull off a short hair cut and voila! a hair cut the stylist *swore* was the perfect cut for my face shape. Think Meg Ryan hair style (You've Got Mail) only not as thin and not as cute. The great thing about hair is that it grows back. (Hopefully).

I never did seem to pull off thin very well. But it's just the way things are in this world.

When I hear the words: snow drops, I think of smooth melting edges of snow. Cold water dripping and birds fluttering around the nearest trees. They cry for things I have no knowledge of.

Its damp outside right now. The snow has melted down a little. Snowman making snow. Buckley leaves little footprints you can follow, although you may look a bit like you're having a seizure because he is always all over the place. He loves it here more than I do.

The trees don't speak to me on this part of the planet. When I do manage to drift off to sleep, I wait for the sounds of raining water, or crashing seas. I always hope for the sound that I can listen to, for the rest of my life. But I haven't heard it yet.

The entire family will be descending upon the city of London (Ontario) for the holidays. It will be loud, there will be many people (on the Greek side) and I will try to fold myself into a dark corner where I will smoke cigarettes and drink champagne. Then, maybe I will rent a cheap motel room and sleep there with the dogs.

I feel the tug of the current and it jerks me down like a shark taking a bite. Topside cigarettes taste the best.

Labels: cold, Gish, Manitoulin Island, melancholy, Northern Ontario, smoking, winter, writing

Sleep is evading me. Again. I don't really have anything interesting on my mind, and I've been vigilant in the 'sleep hygiene' regimen I was given awhile ago (by some idiot doctor). Nice comfy bed. The dogs are calm (mostly). And still no deal. Sleep and I may have to come to an uneasy agreement in that I know it's supposed to come through and it tells me to get lost.

This morning I head upstairs and come face to face with a hottie cable guy that is fiddling with the wires to get a clearer picture. My stepdad is perched anxiously on the couch, waiting for the verdict. I just sigh and look pointedly at the new satellite receiver. The satellite was installed last Monday (to my great joy) and there he was, worried about the cable (that we all agreed would be disconnected as it has no real channels, very fuzzy reception NO MATTER WHAT, and the cost is what we pay for satellite programming now). But I suppose old people are reluctant to let go of familiar fuzzy channels that are: a) in french (no one in the house speaks french), b) mostly entertainment channels (no one really cares about what weird thing Tom Cruise is up to now) and c) just plain LAME.

Now I can guess what you are thinking; why the big deal about television? Well, let me tell you. When you are surrounded by nothing but trees and 4 feet of snow (which will grow to 6 or 7 by February), then television becomes somewhat interesting. Especially as you've read every book in the house approximately 7 times each, and the nearest city is 200 kilometres away. So, forgive me if I worship at the alter that is satellite television for a little while.

In any event, the hottie cable guy talks to me and stoops down (about 6 feet of him, I would say) and pets Buckley (picture a fierce sneer on his face) but I'm not buying this in-house pickup. I tell him I would spend more time talking him up but I need to either renew my subscription with eHarmony or hope for the day John Cusack realises there is a northern girl in Canada (not Neve Cambell) who would probably be more than happy to go for vietnamese food with him (me, of course) then I go back downstairs (after grabbing another can of pepsi).

John Cusack, John Cusack, John Cusack, ok? I know I've mentioned him a few times in this space but who cares? Blogs are full of crap all of the time, so any readers who are miffed with the Cusack references can either stop reading or stop emailing me regarding the subject. Cusack! So there.

Ok, I'd better go.
Before anyone else gets hurt.

Labels: cable, insomnia, John Cusack

Hrmmm, it's 8:20 in the morning.

why, you might ask am I up at this ungodly hour?

Because Cusack is on A&E right this minute. GO. Go now and watch.

Labels: A and E, John Cusack

believe your truth is not my truth...
Just some thoughts that are rolling around in my mind at the moment. When I go outside to smoke a cigarette, I turn my eyes towards the back of the property where I hear strange sounds. Rustling leaves and tree branches kissing or maybe mauling each other. There are the towering cedars that creak when they rub against one another. The dark keeps the woods' secrets. I am not brave enough to discover them for myself.

My bed is warm on the inside. I keep my room cold, the pets invariably make their way underneath the covers. The snow and the cold have made Manitoulin Island their winter home. I wish I could keep chilled wine and beer for the visitors I don't want to have, but there isn't any room in the refrigerator except for real things like food and salted butter sticks.

Instead, I keep small bottles of champagne in the trunk of the car and smuggle it in when the mood strikes. Not tonight, too cold to venture out. Instead, my head is rolling around the room with it's own inebriation.
what was it like just to have it all slip through your hands...?
Oh...it felt like loss at first. Now I can't even remember what I had. And if I do, it only comes to me at night when I'm asleep. The images flit hither and thither. Then I awake to melancholic feelings that dissipates as quickly as a cool mist.

Most times.

the waters beginning to freeze here...solid by morning...
The lakes on this island have already frozen over. Whether or not I venture out into one of them for photos this year remains to be seen. It is cold in my bones tonight. I am not sleeping like I should again. Seems so easy to slip back into the welcoming arms of insomnia. Hello dear friend.

saw on your face such a curious grin as I let go your hand, was desperate to hold you again but you're sinking, too deep in the water......so easily gave up what I wanted....
So true. So hard to forget.


Devil By my Side - David Usher
Tomorrow Comes - David Usher
St. Lawrence River - David Usher

Labels: cold, David Usher, ice, insomnia, Manitoulin Island, Northern Ontario, winter

Labels: alcohol, champagne, hicks, Island, Manitoulin Island, Northern Ontario

I wonder what I would have written had I not drank a bottle of champaigne last night.
:)

I’m a single, 31 year old woman. I like it that way, it keeps things simple. However, one of the things I dislike about being single is when people think you need to be with someone. Anyone. Anyone will apparently do, so long as I am not single anymore. This constant ‘fixing up’ is exhausting and it’s just plain embarrassing. I didn’t understand the need to pair up in my 20’s, and in my 30’s I still don’t get it.

Of course, this all sounds fine and good while I’m in my pyjamas, in the middle of the night, listening to Ryan Adams songs with my headphones on and a can of Pepsi beside me. Alone in bed. There are worse things.

In spite of all my good intentions, I put off a few job applications and writing assignments. I meant to have my admissions essay completed by this time, but it’s not even started. Nor are the ideas that have been whirling around in my head for the past 6 months. Not that easy when it comes right down to it.

Don’t those fixer upper people know that I’m a special breed? If I were to pair up, it would be with an ordinary guy, like….

Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Just some guy who knows how to handle me better than I do. Some guy in a bad shirt and a worse haircut. He would be made up of ordinary people.

I thought things got easier with age, but there just seems to be more questions, more mystery behind the meaning of life. But I shouldn't get too serious, I haven't had nearly enough red wine to contemplate those things, and it's still only 11:30 in the evening.

awareness is a terrible thing. What I would not give to be simple-minded in every respect.

Labels: relationships, Ryan Adams, single, singledom

I was buried underneath a bunch of snow. Luckily, I was able to dig myself out with a teaspoon. I made a little fire with twigs and made leaf tea, which I drank under the bough of a spruce tree. Buckley was able to escape the experience as he had previously booked a trip to Cuba to check out the lifetime of Che. He sent a postcard. In it, he's wearing a comrade cap and saluting, with a cigar in is mouth. Now, I don't know when he will be back. Looks like he's having fun.

Today, I borrowed my mother's car (oh, it feels a lot like being 17) and went for a drive. The nearest McDonald's is 50 kilometres away. I'm not a huge fan of the fast food chain, but in my way of thinking, that's how one measures how populated a town is.

Unfortunately, the town is not very populated regardless of the presence of the deep fryer heaven. An hour is all it took to peruse the 4 stores that may have had what I wanted (they didn't) and I grabbed a large coffee for the awesome trip home.

I have new headphones (impulse buy as Buckley had chewed through the cord of my other ones) and some soap. One can never have enough soap.

I got back in time for tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. This really is the life.

p.s My iPod played Purple Rain and I thought of you. I wish I had your picture to hang on my wall, because despite all the nasty emails I sent you (1) I still think of you. I guess you win.

message home
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Earlier last week, whilst making my way from the kitchen to my rooms down below, I somehow slipped and fell down the stairs. You can all laugh now. But this is the first time I've actually hurt myself and had evidence. First exhibit: A swollen big toe, which I was sure was broken but seems to have been healing lately, and it is no longer as swollen or purply. Exhibit two came along after the fact and did not present itself immediately: a large bruise on my butt that turned the most incredible shades of purple and red. Really, I wanted to take photos, but somehow the idea of posting a photo of my ass on the internet didn't really sound to be a good idea.

That was about a week ago. I've been hobbling around since and miserable because the (minor) injuries really make it difficult to be mobile. As if things weren't bad enough and I am stuck in the 9th circle of Hell in Northern Ontario.

There is only so much snow one can watch through the window.

Ok, it's not as bad as all that. But I do miss the hustle and bustle of the city. I miss the sound of traffic, and fire engines. London was famous for the sound of fire engines. But maybe it was only me that heard them.

Another off-shoot of being in rural Ontario: I am suddenly reminded of all the music I used to love. Like Bon Jovi when I was 12. Or the Spinto Band with Oh Mandy. I have an entire hard drive downstairs with 5 gigs of music I 'used' to listen to. Something tells me I may have a task ahead of me.

Anyhow, I have a job interview. So I'd better put some clothes on.