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I've spent a lot of my spare time lately, puttering around the house and putting various things designed for living, into their 'rightful' places. Although, truth be told, that doesn't explain why I have most of my camera equipment stored in a kitchen cupboard by the stove. I think this is the spot where people usually put their drinking glasses. Not sure. Accessible, that's for sure. And it makes sense to me.

Just a quick shot of the new digs. This is after I've unpacked everything, and bought a few things from local garage sales (gotta love the coffee table set for 15 dollars).

And of course, Bailey walking across my line of sight.

Today was another Absinthe green eye day. Tomorrow will be purples. I have come to like categorizing the mood I wake up in, with the colour I put over my eyelids. For now.

I should be contemplating the huge amount of laundry that has collected in my bedroom but right now I am obsessed with getting a kickass set of oil pastels. Gone are the days (for the time being, at least) of going out to an art supply store on a whim and buying what I want, when I want it. That sucks. I checked the two places that *might* have something, and came up empty. Even from the store that claims to have art supplies. A couple of sketch pads and colouring pencils do not count as art supplies, in my mind. Maybe for a 6th Grader.

Mind you, don't be surprised if I come home with those very things on the weekend. I'm desperate for colour. I've got a few large-ish sized canvasses in the next room, waiting for me to ruin them with thoughts and ideas. I can hardly wait. The gesso isn't even dry, yet.

In other news, a childhood friend (and artist) surprised me by asking if he could do a portrait of, well...me. I said yes, and when possibilities were mentioned, he brought up sculpture. I said, hell yes. I can hardly wait to see what he comes up with. Burning to know, in fact.

Gotta run. Hot Dogs are getting cold.

Labels: art, eye makeup, home improvement, house, makeup, new home

Drove to a little town called High Level this past weekend. It's in Alberta. I've never been. I like crossing borders. Makes me feel as though I'm doing something totally different even though there's no real line separating one province from another. But according to everyone, there is a difference. Suddenly I'm meeting up with cars that have different license plates than I do, little red ones. Mine is in the shape of a polar bear. Not by choice, just what they happen to issue way up here.

I've had a great week so far. Things seem to be falling into place. I'm back in the cockpit of a car, with all of my music at my fingertips, or on shiny little discs that I have a fondness for making.

And now, I'm sitting in my bedroom listening to and searching for little covers of great songs that I adore. Live cuts, rare releases. It's like how I imagine crack cocaine to be. Lou Reed is in the background.

Bailey is in the other room, sometimes he gets stuck on the other side of the house not able to see how to make it back to wherever I am. I check my mailbox every day. I make coffee with my little french press, fresh ground beans (still working on the art of grinding) and slip into my makeup and clean clothes every crisp frosty morning. I feel like I'm living a real life again. One filled with the minutia I've missed from my London days.

But I look at the clock now and see it's time for the evening movie. And I just noticed that I have about 4 different versions of Sweet Jane. Also, for some reason...I have always felt Lou Reed could be a genius but he is a little...creepy.

:)

Labels: home improvement, music, new, new home, Northwest Territories

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

I've been listening to The Ocean by Matthew Good at work, for the past two days. It's by turns made me meloncholy for I don't know what, and also made me feel at home in this place.
The village I live in has changed from a winter wonderland without trees to a place that is carpeted with gravel and dust gets into everything. I'm constantly washing my hands because they feel coated in dust, and the windshield of my truck is always filmed in dust when I get in every morning. Atv's, trucks and other things whiz by making the dust rise up even more. A fine, fine grey dust that makes me leave ghostly footprints on the stairs when I go up to bed.

Tomorrow the weekend starts and I have all sorts of half-formed plans in mind of how to spend the time, that don't involve sleeping. My room mate has left for the summer and plans on moving in with another teacher at the beginning of the year, so I have to house to myself...to leave my dvds or books on the coffee table as I see fit.

So, I have a plan to paint a small mural in the corner of my new bedroom. I bought a set of black sheets (which seems like folly now that I know how much dust is up around here) and I thought the black tribal art and sheets would look kind of neat together.

Mind you, I have also discovered that my bed could fit in this open cubby hole. So, whether or not I will be sleeping in a cubby hole depends on how much I feel like isolating myself when the time comes for actually moving the bed. Crazy, I know.

I've been sleeping in a lot lately. I'm up at 3 a.m. and when I finally fall back to sleep, I'm almost literally unable to get out of bed when the alarm goes off at 7. I'm thinking it's a mind over matter thing, and eventually I'll trick my mind into telling my body what I freaking want it to do.
I've also given up pop. I still love it, and covet it but at the price of $37.95 for a 12 pack...I just can't in good conscience, buy it. I am chagrined.

But I guess forty dollars saved is forty dollars earned.

Labels: home improvement, money, sleep

God is speaking to Peter about how he's exhausted and would *love* to have some rest. Peter suggests the moon, God says no...there isn't any atmosphere. God says he wants to rest for a bit in a wonderful place. Then Peter suggests Earth. God says, "I went there over 2000 years ago and met a wonderful little jewish girl.....and they are STILL talking about it!!"
(not my joke, just something I heard tonight).

I've been wearing contact lenses for the better part of 5 years now. I occasionally wore my glasses, but for only short periods of time and very far in between. I decided the other day to give my eyeballs a rest and wear glasses for a few weeks. They make me look stern, my sister thinks I look 'smart'. Either way, they are the first things that I grab in the morning.

However, my first thoughts are usually: Oh my god, I'm going blind!
Then I remember the glasses. Everything looks so diminished behind my lenses.

You're wondering if I'm ok...
The nights are cool now, and I relish the breeze that floats in through the windows. Anything to stimulate my skin. Hot water. Buckley's fur, when he's rolling around in my arms like a wriggling fish. Beebeese's fur beneath my fingertips, she feels like a mink resting on the windowsill.

I had big plans for an entry about my efforts to spruce up the shitty little apartment I've rented for considerably less money than I used to pay for my great apartment last winter. So this showerhead I had before (which I have brought with me) is not like a turbo water blaster or anything, it's like a rain fall, which I adore. I can feel like I'm in a rainstorm everytime I shower.

But perhaps it is not to be in this place. My continued efforts to remove the pipe coming out of the wall remain unfullfilled, despite trying a multitude of wrenches, pliers, a hammer and a knife at one point. It could be that I am too weak to do it. I don't mind admitting I have no physical strength.

result: the superintendant is sending a plumber tomorrow. Phew.


Time After Time - Cyndi Lauper

Labels: God, home improvement, how not to be an idiot

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

mirror image
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

It occurs to me, as I sit down to write out an entry, or attempt to tweak the fiction I've managed to force out with pure brute strength, that I may remember other people's funny stories before I remember mine.

I say this because I distinctly remember a thing Matthew Good had commented on, about a hundred years ago, about cleaning his shower. With pictures. It made me laugh. And to this day, gives me a ghost of a smile, at the very least. Of course, this could very well be the neurotic part of me, right? Right.

Buckley had been barking all day. I mean as in barking, making noise, not barking, as in mad. He's been scurrying about like a mouse, skidding across the old hardwood floors as if skating. I thought for a minute maybe it was the full moon, but that was last week. And I only know this because I had attended a Full Moon ceremony that night. Freezing, wrapped in a blanket like a real indian (I am, honest), standing in front of a fire, and looking like I am praying hard for guidance. Really, I was thinking: it's fucking ridiculous to be out in this sub zero weather when we can very easily complete this part of the ceremony in the lodge where it's not exactly comfortably warm, but where the wind is not icing through me like knives of bitter cold.

Heh.

Anyway, I don't know what's wrong with Buckley. Maybe cabin fever. Maybe it's time to go to the park.

Ok, my neighbours. I live in a house, I have the front apartment and they have the back apartment. Their basement area is right below my bedroom. They have parties sometimes, not a big deal. But for some reason, the smell of pot really gets me going. And I don't mean in a good way, either. I mean, it drives me nuts. I don't care if they are smoking the amount of pot that would fit into a little red wagon, but do they have to do it inside? Where it's making my apartment smell like I have a serious love affair with weed?

So, now, I just listen to music late at night when they are having one of their parties, singing along to The Most Beautiful Girl in the World by Prince with headphones on. I don't care if it makes me look stupid. Because if I'm going to smell like a joint, then I will at least sound like I've smoked one, dammit.

ok, that is the rant for today. Good night, and good luck, my beauties.

p.s should I die horribly and unexpectedly, then I would like Square One by Tom Petty to be the song played at my funeral service. Just an FYI, I'm expecting to live at least until I've finished learning to play the guitar, and the piano.

p.p.s I shouldn't do this, but I will mention the man who is taking care of my little Ash doll. I hope he is still safe. That is all.

Labels: Buckley, drama, habits, headphones, home improvement, how not to be an idiot, Matthew Good, music, native ceremonies, neighbours, photographs, pot, Prince

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