The sun has come back for short appearances at 10 in the morning. It sneaks a peek up over the farthest southern horizon you can look to, then sinks back down like a balloon losing air. Truth be told, I hardly missed it's absence. The dark is so soothing.

the baffled king composing Hallelujah...

Well, its been a bit of a rough day. Work demands strain the quality of my time spent in isolation at my new perch in Igloolik. Just here for work matters until Thursday. I have a new roommate in Hall Beach and she seems great so far. But there always is the honeymoon period. So I'm not expecting much, either from myself or her. No expectations, means no disappointments later on.
One of my secrets has been aired by another. Despite the initial burst of anger and self-righteousness, things seemed to have calmed down in my mind. I guess this stage is what one would call: Damage control. So I've sent out my white flags, and can do nothing now but hope for the best. Silly really. I never hope for the best. I have just gotten used to expecting the worst.
but I'm not really in the mood for damage control, either. In this instance, I'm hoping (oops, bit of an expectation here) that we can all act like adults and move on. But I sense that is unlikely. I can blame the one who spilled the beans, or I can blame myself for indulging myself in his audience. Either way, the damage is done.

So, I'm sitting here in the chilly living room of the house I am temporarily occupying, typing this out and listening to an old favourite. A hot bath has been drawn and bloodletting is on my mind, little silken swirls of it in steamy hot water. Memories, I suppose. Or scenes of a movie I can't look away from.

My fingernails are painted baby blue, an opposite to the black I had gotten during my airport manicure in Toronto last week (feels like a month ago). I've only been home for a week yesterday and yet, it feels as though I've been missing in action for quite some time. Or that I've been underwater, swimming. Night swimming. And only coming up for air now. This past week has felt absolutely endless.

My thoughts have turned back to what to do, where to go next and the center of my mind has been focused on teaching english overseas. Vietnam calls me, has called me in the past and it looks like a reality. Or it looks like it could become my reality. If I so choose. The idea of social work in another community or back in Ontario is not an attractive one....just now. Perhaps later.

you know, I used to live alone before I knew ya'...

My bath water is waiting, but I just got off the phone with Craig who is on his own tonight with his very busy offspring, Benji, so he has to call back once things are settled down in his household. In effect, I'm on hold. Just not on the line. Nothing's on the line. He tells me about the song he wrote for me, the lyrics should make me uncomfortable, they are that close...but instead, I'm just eager to hear the finished product and add it to my collection. He's so dear to me in an abstract sort of way, this Craig.

I'm still even, I think. Despite my efforts to sabotage the sense of being even just to see what would happen. Nothing is what has happened. And this makes me feel content.

I just want to get moving. Time to go somewhere else. Time to plan, makes solid plans and follow through. My trusty little dog packed up with me, and off I go. But that's a little ways away yet. Now is the money saving time. Later, will be the fun time.

It's just a shame I can't combine the two and do what I do best....leave.

G.

Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley

Labels: Arctic, Bailey, betrayal, friends, Gish, how not to be an idiot, Jeff Buckley, layers, mistakes, secrets, stupidity, travelling, we all lose in the end

I'm feeling alittle introspective at the moment. I read another's blog, someone I've followed for a number of years, someone I've felt a kinship with no matter what comes out of his mouth (it seems), and someone who inspires me when it seems he is at his lowest. This entry follows the same train of thought of one his more recent.

So I come here and tinker with words. I think back to past entries. The good ones. The ones I actually wanted to read myself. Ones I didn't hate. And I wonder where that girl went. Oh, some would say I'm still me, that that girl is still here, one in the same. But I don't think so. I think she's gone. She might make small appearances here and there, but she's really packed up and moved on.

And I shouldn't be sad. I mean, that girl got into a lot of trouble for her errant ways and ultimately led me to where I am today...alive and kicking. Still waking up each morning, breathing. But I still think back and admire some of the stuff she pulled off. And it feels like the art was better back then. I feel as though I am missing the passion, the fire that used to burn through me to do things. Well, I suppose it really is missing, given the changes that have happened over the past year. I guess that fire wasn't always so good. But it felt like it was.

The old me would have sent an email to my fellow blogger with a suggestion or a remark. Now, I just read and move on. It's almost an absence of feeling. The old me would have done *something*. Now, I just sit back.

Even though moving forward is apparently good, I still spend a fair amount of time looking over my shoulder. It's something I'm known for.

My rationale is this: how can I see where I am going if I don't know what I've done?

Labels: forgot, Gish, habits, how not to be an idiot, late night, layers, Matthew Good, we all lose in the end, writing

I keep getting hit in the head by lines from different songs I'm listening to. They stick in my head, I use them for titles of blog entries, or for memory joggers in my day planner. People are going to think I'm seriously demented. If my stuff were to be examined by CSI, they'd never figure out who offed me...too much cross contamination of evidence.

Work is gonzo. Interesting developments that keep me intrigued, listening at the door for more information. Suddenly, I'm more interested in what's going on than I am in what I'll be making for dinner. And we all know food consumes me. Most days. It looks like I could be bouncing between two communities for work related issues, which will a.) increase the amount of air miles I collect and b.) change up scenery for my brain. So it might not be such a bad thing.

My parka arrived the other day. It's called the Resolute parka. It's by Canada Goose and a maroon colour. It's actually quite nice. And warm. I never thought they made coats so warm. I can tell that I will be toasty all winter, even in the -50 weather that's expected in December/January.

an old photo from a couple of years ago.

I got a few things in the mail yesterday. Mail day for me is always fun. I like getting stuff, even if it's pretty useless. A Chapters card came in, the Hawksley Workman album I won on Facebook, and a book by an author I thought I would try out (so far, it's pretty darn good).

Hawksley's new album is called Los Manlicious. I'm only on the 5th song and it's awesome. Reminiscent of (last night) We Were the Delicious Wolves. So snarky, nutty, cabaret-ish. It's really great. I can tell this will be an album I will listen to a lot. Very loud. It sound kind of European, if that makes any sense. It's really great to get excited about music again.

I did take a couple of new pictures lately. The problem is getting them uploaded to Flickr since I don't have an internet connection at home (well, I do if I take the modem home with me) and most nights I just leave it at work since it's easier. But I'll probably start taking it home more often just to stay caught up on the photo front.

I'm looking forward to my Christmas vacation. I've bought the ticket, planned where I will be and I can't wait for a month and a half to go by so I can be in Ontario and near my nutty family. I also can't wait to see my new nephew who is currently being hot-housed in my sister's belly (at least for another month or so) until he's ready to join us.

Anyhow, time to get back to work. God knows I'll be kept busy over the next little while.

Labels: Arctic, Arctic Circle, family, flying, Gish, hawksley, hawksley workman, holidays, job, music, music opinion, nephews, Nunavut, photographs, vacation, weather, winter, work

I hate when I have food in the house and am hungry, but no appetite for whatever I've previously bought. I look in the cupboards and survey the canned goods (why do they call them 'goods'?) and dry pasta, along with the various spices and oils that I've gotten from family members.

Recently, I got a package sent from my dad which includes every spice I can think of (that I know). After the box was open and sitting in my office for awhile...I was hungry for roast chicken. My stomach really has a mind of it's own. I hate that. I want to be the boss of everything.

Here's a photo of a yellow iris that grows in a patch on my mother's property.

I haven't felt like updating lately. Not for lack of time, or want even...just no real drive. I was sad when I got out of bed this morning for no discernable reason. I brushed my teeth, staring at my reflection, running today's duties over in my mind. Even though I've come this far, it is always in the back of my mind that I'm still running. I just haven't ever really figured out what it is.
I've loaded a bunch of photos onto facebook and scoured my old photo-dumping page for ones that I might have missed when I switched over to Flickr.

I still sit here like a sullen child. The notes I write to myself are warnings that I should heed once I've read them, like this message will self-destruct...but I never really do. I just go along with what is happening.

I'm waiting for the movers to get a shake on so that my stuff gets moved here faster. I bought all manner of things, but I am mostly looking forward to the gigantic tv and surround sound so that when I watch documentaries on the History channel...my ears will really feel as though they are in the Rennasaince. I spell checked that word, and it still looks mispelled...Rennasaince.

In any event. I switched bedrooms the other day. I took photos of before and after, trying to maximise the space but I don't know if I got it quite right. When all was said and done, it looked like any other bedroom. Nothing special.

I guess it looked better in my head.

Labels: blah, Gish, home improvement

You say you wanna play Country but you're in a Punk Rock band...
Did I tell anyone that's my new favourite song? Have I sung along to it enough in the car, as I'm gliding along those endless ribbons of black highway?

I'm a hotel room in Timmins. Back here, getting ready for bed so I can get up early and catch a plane back to the nowhere world I live and work in. Looking forward to going back. Not looking forward to going back.

I already miss my family, despite all of the crisis' that have risen up over the past three weeks, I was still glad to be among blood.

Rose just posted a photo she took of me in the old days.

Sometimes, it's really nice to see the old me. Suddenly, I feel better.

Labels: Gish, myself, travelling

my feet don't touch the ground when you come around...
I'm exhausted. This week has been pretty brutal with travel and training. We're working right through the weekend which means no time off until next Saturday. I shouldn't whine, but I like to sleep in (if I can) so after awhile, it all catches up with me and sends me over the little deep end.

I wanted to post this. I posted it when I first got the tattoo years ago but I just wanted everyone to see it...again. Like it was the first time.


I've been spending a lot of time with the local social workers which is kind of fun. Every day, the covering social worker cooks dinner and we sit around and gab until I see how late it's getting and rush back to the hotel. I use the term 'hotel' loosely and will post photos at some point. They book the rooms by the bed, so if anyone else checks in, I'll have to share a room. That's when I'll be begging for the couch at the social worker's house. Oh yeth.

I bought two perfect red pears. I set them on the dresser so they can ripen a bit more. They look delectable from where I am sitting, typing this out for you, and I want to taste one but it will be too hard against my teeth and unready to eat. Unready. I like to make up words, sometimes.

I'm getting excited about my trip to London in June. The shopping. The fact that I will be renting a car and will feel the warm June night air on my skin. I'll take nostalgic trips to Port Stanley and sit in the sand as the water waves over itself. I'm looking forward to it. I like the Arctic but I still have fond memories of other places.

The Devil's in the Details - Matthew Good.'

Labels: Apostle, Arctic Circle, girls, Gish, holidays, job, Matthew Good, music, travelling

Not really working on anything right now. I was actually looking at this photograph and missing the girl I used to be. That must be part of age, or maybe it's just egoism. I should embrace any changes that have been made to my molecular make-up and see them for what they really are: just a part of life.

But I hear the clock in this room ticking, and it feels like it's timing down to something. Like a quiet clicking race, one that I'm going to come last in. Then I feel like listening to The Tea Party, and my over-the-counter heartburn medication isn't working even though I've taken two tablets and it's supposed to be 'extra-strength'. So, I just sit here with the music on, lighting cigarettes from the ends of candles and trying to pick a movie to sleep with, but I can't because everything I've seen has already been seen and we all know what happens when they end.

My dreams are filled with the matching bed sheets of past relationships and the kisses of those that I coveted but never felt. Those pairs of brown eyes both exciting and disappointing me, at the same time. The sleeping pills maybe make these people more real than they actually were, and because it was so long ago, maybe that's true.

Or I feel like a keyboard you can click on, a link that leads you to spam pages and pop-up windows. Free cursors, smileys you don't want and ads for Viagra or penis extensions. Click, click, click. Close.

The dogs sleep at the foot of the bed, they don't know I will not be here on this day at the same time next week, that they will be sleeping alone with each other. And I wonder if they care. But that doesn't matter because that's just the way things are. That's just the way they are.

Labels: Apostle, depression, Gish, late night, melancholy, neurotic, pharmacology, sleep, underwater, we all lose in the end, writing, zopiclone

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

Truth be told, I'm so sick of whining about being sick or sad, or 'not feeling so hot', that I could die. It's not as though those are the only parts of my life. Maybe in the moment, they certainly feel that way. I should update this blog somewhere other than bed, really.

This weekend, I guess I'll be the 'sad girl on the ferry' when I go home for Thanksgiving. You know what I mean; you notice a lone figure standing on the deck of the ferry, smoking cigarettes. She has windswept hair and sad eyes. Maybe her little dog is pulling on his leash to go elsewhere....but that's where she stands, looking out onto the painfully blue water. Maybe she's in deep thought about her lost love, or the fact she can't cook. Or perhaps, she is mourning the fact she never bought those trendy Gucci sunglasses at the Half-off store and now has to face the others on the boat with bare eyes. And you know just by her luggage that she must feel somewhat cosmopolitan for appearing at her family home in time for the holidays. Able and eager to leave after dinner. Slick sunglasses or not.

Yep. I'll play that part in public just because maybe I have nothing else to do. The only thing that sucks about it is they do not allow smoking on deck anymore. Must be all the cigarette butts that are floating in Lake Huron. Or maybe the seagulls finally got together and made a stink about the tainted air they have to deal with as they fly in tandem with the boat as it crosses from Tobermory to Manitoulin Island.

We call it a boat, not a ferry. Unsophisticated. But I don't think the locals care. Or the tourists, for that matter.

Nuts man, we're all just nuts. Excuse me, I must go and listen to Bruce Springsteen now.

Labels: acting, Bruce Springsteen, family, Ferry, Gish, holidays, music, New York, smoking

The flashlight is missing in action. I think it's on tour, slowly going across the nation like a beacon. No, I think 'beacon' is the wrong word, because I gain no comfort from who has it. People need to take care of themselves, is how I put it. It's so true. I never want to be a Gish that broke the camel's back again. It's the worst kind of guilt. Ahhh, the things that live in my head.

Anyway, I had to say that because it was in my head. Playing around with my nephew today in the backyard, he's attached at the hip with my mother whom he calls Nokomi (grandmother in Ojibwe) and we were laughing at his attempts at speech.

At the title 'suggests', I am sad that I wasn't able to go see Ryan Adams in Toronto tonight. He's playing at Massey Hall (amazing venue) and well, there is no one I would rather see at the moment. Hear those words, that music with my own ears. His mouth to my ears. magic, maybe.

Meanwhile, I'm ready to cut my hair and wear a rebel beret, not really sure what the cause is yet. Maybe I could practice being a seed activist. I would have to move: London is very conservative. However, that won't stop me from voting for the Green Party.

Yeah, yeah....I know.
Nightie.

Nobody Girl - Ryan Adams

Labels: Gish, nephews, Ryan Adams, song

I was central. I had control. I lost my head.
Dvd's scattered all over my bed, things I've watched over the past week. I usually fall asleep with something playing, my glasses still on. A pharmaceutical lullaby.

3 or 4 years ago, I was intent on achieving and owning anything and everything I thought I wanted. I bought a house, had a steady and reliable social work-esqe kind of job, some family in the same town I lived in. A stereo system, surround sound blah blah blah. I even rejoiced in buying a hammock for my backyard, where I planned to lay in whilst looking at the cherry tree blossoms floating around me.

Instead, I spent all available time working because I thought that made me a better worker. That led to not my being able to spend any time in the house I lovingly chose out of 4 others. Very little to no time with my family. Leaving the house and coming home when it was dark in all seasons, which meant I had a frozen pizza to eat for dinner while I watched dvd tv, I think it was Millennium at the time. When the Cherry trees did bloom, I managed only a few hours stolen to lie in the hammock reading Hawksley Workman's poetry and talking on the phone. I spent my vacations waiting for the time to come when I could go back to work.

Then I became progressively more sick as time went on.

It's crazy what you coulda had...
Now, having given up or lost every material object I used to hold dear to me, I have this strange and dubious sense of clarity. It's almost like any veil, or pair of sunglasses, blinders I used to fashion for myself have been lost and I feel like doing things that are way beyond any scope of social work or the bare necessities of living that I had ever thought possible.

And I am able to take photographs that remind me of those that are in my life forever. A photograph of my youngest sister and my youngest nephew dancing to invisible music. It's so crazy what I could have had....



Country Feedback - R.E.M

Labels: bipolar, family, Gish, habits, hawksley workman, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, neurotic, photographs, photography, work, writing

You know, when I sit down to write something, it never turns the way I've expected it to. The same goes for telephone conversations. Those of you have endured, I thank you, and those of you that thus far avoided it, good job!

There is something inherently weak about the human race, that the smallest thing to tip the balance can become increasingly clear as new information is revealed. I'm a revealer of information myself, so I understand the concept.

For instance, I've been revealing things, personal aspects of myself to another for a number of months. But when it came right down to the last minute detail, which was whether or not he can handle the diagnosis, I saw in his face what he couldn't articulate. His mouth was saying all the right things, but his body wasn't. And I might have wept if it was for another reason, because in all honesty I don't know if I can handle my condition anymore than someone else. Why should I foist upon someone that I need to take time off work to get my head on straight. Or the medication I am on may decease my sex drive. Or that I will be a moody bitch for 2 weeks out of a month?

Do you see where I'm going, here? I have to adjust my vision to something with less expectations of other people. Because in the end, it's your breath you hear in the dark, your mind whispering things.

Anyhow, it feels like Fall right now. I had my bedroom window open for much of the week but had to close it today because I thought it was too cold. Now, though. I don't care. I'm prepared with a sweater. I can't bear this room if it weren't for the window. The weather makes me bring the camera out for thing like waxy yellow leaves, or vivid reds of Maple trees. But it's only June and those sorts of things are miles away.

Now, though it's nearly, I'll just follow my warped instinct and keep my mouth shut. No more revealing for today.

Labels: bipolar, Gish, habits, love, sex, we all lose in the end

out of gas
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
The level of fuel in my car is usually low, and now that I don't have a job, I've noticed the 'out of gas' light light up more often than as previous. But this time, I think I hit an all-time low.

This is where one can say, ah she's hit her plateau. What I would say in response is that there is no plateau for me. Not yet. I'm not running around with a sticker on my forehead that says I'm crazy, but on the other hand, close friends of mine know what's going on. Because there are quite a few hours I spent on my own, but do not recall, no matter how hard I've tried.

It's morning time, where I am. The air is a bit spoiled from the brewery behind my house. I live near the Labatt place and sometimes when the wind is right, you get a wiff of something that just makes you want to retch. The sun is out, and it feels like a cool Spring morning. The weather online say it is to thunder and storm later on. But looking out of my bedroom window, one wouldn't have any idea.

lying on the gurney, staring up at the blinding light. Thirsty. So thirsty. Nothing floating through my mind, with the exception of getting home as soon as possible. You weren't there, and neither was the other one. None belonging there, I suppose. It's been awhile since I've felt there was someone below to catch me with a net, like all those silly Saturday morning cartoons from 1983.

Only it's not 1983, it's 2007 and I have no excuse for my behaviour. I need to take responsibility for my actions, not my family and/or friends.

Oh, Interpol was just playing on my clock radio, and I had a sense of Deja Vu where it felt like I was living in the house I bought 2 years ago, but sold one year ago. Early mornings spent in the hammock with coffee and cigarettes. The knowledge that no one knew I was back there unless they came through the back yard.

I miss that house. But its just a material thing. And lately, there isn't much room for fancifull day dreaming.

Labels: depression, family, Gish, Matthew Good, underwater

Ok, so I don't want to make a big fuss about anything, nor do I expect anyone to fall at my feet because of what I am about to tell you.

ok, first things first. It's a cool Monday morning, and I've just brewed my first pot of coffee in my new coffee maker. Not a big deal, huh? It is to me when I realise I've never owned a coffee maker before, nor was I ever interested in the subtle differences in french roast, columbian picked, or fair trade coffee.

I wanted the Fair trade coffee but because of the price, settled for something a little different. French vanilla roasted beans that I ground up in the gorcery store while my older sister watched me with my new treat. I'm enjoying this cup of coffee now, even though there isn't an cream to be found in the house, so I must drink it black.

Bold, hearty and robust, and french vanilla-y, is how I would describe this coffee. Tasty, even without cream.

Ok, so I was diagnosed as being Bipolar type 2 last week. It took me a few hours to get used to the fact that I am now labelled as having a potentially serious mental health problem. When I say hours, I mean that I drove around saying 'holy shit' to myself in the car. Clutching a new bunch of prescription notes, I went to the pharmacy and had them filled. The bottles rattled around in my backpack like a new song.

As Mattie would say: I felt like I could potentially open my own pharmacy with the amount of prescription drugs I now take. This is bothersome for me, because apparently I will have to take this stuff in order to avoid any serious 'episodes' in the future. The language of Bipolar is interesting, as well. Episodes, disease, hypomania, 40% of Bipolar type 2 population attempt suicide.

So that's it. I have Matthew Good as a friend who understands what I'm going through, he knows the lingo, he understands about the drugs. He *gets* it. It's hard for me to explain, but I could be saying something and he'll finish the sentence. And that's comforting. I also have the goodwill of my family, mostly because I think for them it explains why I do a lot of the things I do.

And you know, I was going to make this a friends only entry, but now I'm saying Fuck it. I'm bipolar, big deal, so is half the population.

the end (for now)Love,Gish

Labels: bipolar, depression, family, Gish, habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, Matthew Good, neurotic

If photos were feelings, this is how I feel. This photo is from a couple of years ago. My slightly distracted/disinterested look while I suck back hot coffee.


london
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

It's only 10 p.m. and I am going to bed. I haven't been sleeping for about 2 weeks, and have instead been in a state of 'high as a kite', drunk off my ass, or cranky beyond belief.

Thinking it was a good idea, I tell a 'friend' he can come over and hang around the apartment. Now, I just want him out of my face, off my couch, out of the fucking house because the very pitch of his voice is driving me nuts. I'm nuts already, but I mean fingernails on a black board kind of way.

And it's hot. So hot that I just want to sleep in my underwear and not have to worry about how sexy or inviting I look, even though I feel the exact opposite. I have a bunch of movies I will put on before I fall asleep, ones I haven't watched in awhile. Based on Mattie's recommendation, I was trying to find Deadwood on dvd but haven't been able to track down season 1 yet.

Oh and the Sopranos. I can't tell if that last episode was really deep and totally flew over my head, or if they are just setting up for a movie. Movies of series are all fine and good, but you don't end the series which a freaking anti-climatic episode such as the last one of the Sopranos.

Kind of makes me want to watch M*A*S*H again, but on tv not on dvd. God bless Nick Drake. If that seems random to you, then I guess you don't know what I mean. *sigh*

Anyway, I'd better go. I have spare baggage that I am kicking out of my apartment and an early doctor's appointment in the morning.

Arg. go home.

Labels: depression, Gish, how not to be an idiot, Matthew Good, men, sex

Mother
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I took this photo a little while ago. The word 'mother' stood out to me. My mother is worried about me. I adore her, and it hurts me when she is worried. I'll talk about my mother in more detail at some point.

I've been listening to a lot of Matthew Good (for night time music) and Ani DiFranco (to get my Bitch on). Instead of cursing anything that has gone wrong the past month, I'm in the unique position (again) of concentrating on getting even, and looking at things to do that I would normally pass on.

The evil nasty down mood hasn't been around for a couple of days, I actually feel like my old self today. Yesterday was a little manic, I did some things pretty impulsive. I got two two new tattoos (small ones) for a very reasonable price at Addictive Tattoo here in London. I also bought some new skirts as the plan is to remain in skirts, tshirts and flipflops all summer. I also splurged on a manicure and pedicure (30 dollars) and some Starbucks coffee (which I normally don't bother with). I was a buying machine yesterday.

Today, I will see my two nephews, Riley and Danny for the first time in 2 years. I was able to work out an agreement with their father who used to be quite unapproachable (I think the court papers I prepared had something to do with it) and now, I and the rest of the family will have regular access to them. So, later on today I am sure my mood will change as I will have a lot of questions to answer.

The weather around here is on crack. 35 degrees one day, then 18 degrees the next. Consistency would be nice.

There are a few concerts I would like to attend this summer, but with having no job I doubt I will get out there. Buckley likes to eat watermelon, which I usually snack on before bed.

And thanks to Mattie, I have a thing for cheese now. Freshly grated Parmesan and asiago on top of any pizza I'm eating. I can only hope I do not move on to Tapas after this addiction, as I'm currently broke and can't afford such things *grin*

Anyway, my youngest nephew, Nicholaki is having a birthday party tomorrow, he turned 2 earlier this week. I got him a ball he can jump on. I better put a helmet on him, just in case.
Love, Gish

Labels: coffee, depression, family, Gish, habits, layers, Matthew Good, nephews, opinions, relationships, spending

My thoughts and energies for the past few days since I got out of the hospital have been directed toward work and the high school politics, manager's meetings, and defense of my character and my competance in my work which I hold such pride in, to the degree it can affect negatively on other areas of my life, as some people know. I don't really want to talk about it, but felt the need to mention it.

Coming home this afternoon, I gently ejected an impromptu houseguest that had appeared back in my life after a long absence. In truth, I already knew what the outcome of this psuedo relationship would be, given that truly in my heart and my mind, I do not have anything there to offer anyone. Just try explaining that to a guy who wants to do nothing but spend all available time with you. So there's the what I call 'empty husk' feeling I have along with the fact that he's been in my personal space the past 2 days, and I truly felt myelf not liking the level of intimacy that forms between people from spending a lot time together.

Which makes me a little sad, because I would like to believe that I some day I will have something to offer and not be turned off by the intimacy factor. I just like my 'alone time', always have, always will, I suppose.

When my younger sister, Wasse had her first child, Riley, my older sister B. was there from day one. B and Riley formed a close bond, and she was one of the most consistent things in his life up until his father decided that we didn't need to see our nephews anymore, about 2 years ago. We have not seen them since, Riley and Danny.

Then today, B was volunteering at a waterpark for environmental solutions for water usage. All kinds of fun stuff for the kids to do with water, etc. School aged children came in droves. Riley was one of them. And he didn't recognise her.

She's devastated. I can't do anything other than call Riley's father and leave another message asking that we be allowed to see the children on a regular basis. And miss having these two little guys smiling up at me when hunting for Easter eggs or splashing in the bath (although I guess they are too old for me to bathe them now). Lost times, moments.


Danny and Riley in my old apartment about 4 years ago.


In other news, take a look at the below link to see how Matthew Good writes about how underneath it all, we're just the same after all.
http://www.matthewgood.org/2007/06/down-some-lonesome-street/

Labels: cry, family, Gish, job, layers, Matthew Good, nephews, photographs, we all lose in the end

I got it in my head last night that I should be doing more with my spare time. I should be going out more, and attending to the things that I (think) I like. I was thinking last night that maybe a weekend trip to Michigan for some casual shopping would be a good idea.

Imagine my chagrin when I discovered that Michigan is not really one of the hot spots for shopping, per se.

Thus, I started looking at places in a broader manner. Scrolling around a map of the United States near my border crossing and I see that Chicago isn't that far. In fact, it's only about 6 hours door to door.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but there is quite a lot going on in Chicago. So, I called Rose this morning and asked her to come with me for a little road trip. An overnight in a classy downtown hotel and some night life. Photographs. Boat on the river. Just general tourist kind of thing. She's trying to make arrangements for her kids, I'm sitting here chewing my nails because now I *really* want to go.

However, given how quickly I change my mind, do not be surprised if I do not go.

Last night, eating cheese pizza in front of the television after coming home from spending time with my sister and her son, I was thinking about watching one of those gooey love movies just so I can be a little more brain dead for bed time. I decided on 'Say Anything...' with John Cusack. I have the movie because it was on sale, and I dig John Cusack (sometimes) and because it's the only time I've ever seen him act *that* way before or since in his acting career.

In that kind of mood, I'm thinking "Woohoo! I can watch this and goggle at Mr. Cusack in a manner in which I only would do so only in my living room, in my pjs with cheese pizza." However, once the movie started I realised that I was staring at John Cusack's rendition of an 18 year old boy.

That's when I stopped the movie and put on Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It just won't do for me to be attracted to ANY kind of rendition of a child under the age of 20.

So. That's my exciting life. I'm planning an overnight trip to Chicago for the hell of it, eating too many Oreo cookies, and awaiting the release of Mattie's new album, Hospital Music. I refuse to listen to any samples until I have the disc in my car.

Oh, and I might be buying a new car too. But that is a maybe. You know me and making up my mind. It's a tricky business being Gish, let me tell you.
Love,
G.

Labels: drama, Gish, how not to be an idiot, John Cusack, Matthew Good, music, neurotic, photographs, photography, travelling

I am not leaving this desk until I update my journal. That means no cigarettes, no coffee refills and definitely no eating of the nasty, bad chocolate eggs that someone has left in a tidy green bowl on the filing cabinet in the hallway. They are clearly for only the mad people, and I don’t qualify. Yet.

The tailpipe on my car is just about dragging on the ground, I haven’t changed the oil in my car which should have been done about 2000 kms ago and I keep forgetting to call my sister back about seeing my nephew this week.

However, I did buy car insurance this morning and managed to blow dry my hair without electrocuting myself with the hair dryer. Kitchen is still a mess, and the bathroom kind of scares me, but…all in all, it’s going to be ok. And I was only 1.5 hours late for work.

And I’m still eating sugar. Which could be seen as a failure or (as I see it) an unconscious decision to continue on with my unhealthy lifestyle. Despite the fact there are two heads of lettuce and numerous bottles of un opened salad dressing in the ice box. Yes, you read that right. I am now calling it an ice box.

Had a quick conversation with Craig this morning, I feel like my head is on straight now. I love talking to him. I really ought to start paying him for my whine services.

Rose and I walked our dogs in the park the other day. Apparently, it's supposed to snow here tomorrow morning, but the past few days have been really warm (where I sweat like a pig if I do more than swing my arms while walking outside) kind of weather. Anyhow, we walked the dogs in the park, where I looked like a bad, non caring sort of dog mommie, and Rose looked like the perfect english nanny kind of mommie. Her dogs were heeling, listening to her commands and following her lead. Meanwhile, Buckley was clawing at the ground and barking himself hoarse as soon as our feet hit the ground.

And he still only weighs about 9 pounds. Rose's dogs are rottwheilers (yes, I am aware I probably spelled that wrong. And used the word 'spelled') who are pushing 100 pounds each. So I guess I should be glad that my little dog is being the jerk, and not her big gigantic dogs. I think I told her I wanted to do this once a week with the dogs.

I must have been nuts. Anyhow, I should get going. They do expect me to work around here, not update my journal and leave cutesy messages for my friends on Myspace.

Werd.

Labels: Craig, drama, electrical, Gish, habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, late night, layers, neurotic, 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