Now that I am in my right mind, I can write an ordinary sort of post and not that nonsense of the last one. But since I never edit posts...it's up to me to leave it up. Punishment for my own indulgence in silly, silly affairs of the heart that I should have grown out of a long, long time ago.

As for the subject line, I shouldn't say soon. It could be long time in the making and god knows I change my mind often enough. But keep your eyes peeled on this page. Something is going to show up eventually and it's going to be kickass. I promise.

Just wanted to pop over here really quick and update (like I used to, daily). I have a guilty confession to make. I spent the entire day on the internet. And I mean, since I woke up until I am about to log off to try to sleep because I need to be up by 5:30.

Nuts, I know. Crazy, hells yeah. But I've been pretty absent from the internet for a few days and I like to keep in touch with everyone and everything, so I sat down for a serious session today. Got a lot done, too. Some writing. Photo editing. Made up a photobook to get printed at some point. Mostly when I feel less guilty for blowing almost 300 dollars at Amazon.com the other day, and then another 100 at Sephora.com today. But it's been awhile since I've indulged (Ireland doesn't count in this equation as I mostly bought stuff for other people). So new makeup and the entire series of The Wire will be arriving for me soon.

I wish I could say that I am more excited about the dvds, but in all honesty...I wish I had the television with which to see them better with. Insurance still hasn't gotten around to figuring out my claim and so I watch everything on my laptop. Which is fine. But...I kinda wanted to watch The Wire on a big screen.

Other news: I'm going to figure out how to make my own stretchers and stretch my own canvas if it kills me. I'm not the most dexterous person when it comes to assembling wooden things, but I'm determined. If the hardware store was open today, I would have had some kind of result by now, but nope. Must wait for more time off, even though technically I was working this weekend. I have more canvas ready to be stretched/gesso-ed bought from the hardware store the other day, so it's all in motion.

A photo of my feet, relaxing at the cliff's edge on one of the Aran Islands in Ireland.


Time for sleep. It's midnight here. I'm kind of jumpy, because I keep waiting for my beeper to go off. But I'll try for sleep in any case. I am totally liking where I am right now. The inspiration is pouring in for words, colour and photo clicks.

Stay with me, baby. I'll wake you when the telephone rings. It's all just nonsense, anyway.
Love,
Gish.

Labels: inspiration, painting, photography, sleep, work, writing

find somewhere to go...
In the wake of accepting the job in Nunavut (well, at least accepting in my mind), I've been shopping like a mad person. I've bought a lot of tv dvds that will carry me through some semi-dark nights, as well as the full light ones. If I have insomnia now, I am afraid of what it will look like when I am in a place where the sun doesn't go down for 3 months (June to August). I guess that is to make up for the two months of darkness in the winter months.

More shopping included a gigantic parka, proper winter boots, thermal underwear and a gazillion tshirts to layer up with. The parka. I hate it. It's brown, puffy and reaches to my knees. When I wear it, I feel like a big, brown, puffy Michelin Man. There's nothing for it. I have to wear it. My only consolation is that not a lot of people will see me in it. Yes, my vanity is still alive and strong.

I took this the other day. I'm a passenger.

We can slip into the fog together and get lost for awhile. It will insulate our noises and sounds. We can relax on a broken log and sip hot coffee, our edges blurred even to each other. It was just a thought.

Speaking of Lost. I'm Lost in Lost. I mean, I've become addicted to the show (note: dvd purchased). And it's a darn good thing I've bought all those dvds. I would be very upset if I had to wait for the 2nd season to come out after watching the finale last night of the 1st season. All in one bite. That's my kind of thing.

So, the fact that I'll be living in the Arctic circle has me thinking of things to do to pass the time. So far, tv is taken care of. I've decided to take my guitar, teach myself to play. Books, maybe some knitting stuff to see if I can figure that out on my own. Other than that, I can't think of anything....

I can tell you of the things I will miss. Summer shoes. Fresh fruit. Fresh vegatables. Chinese food. All night convenience stores. Driving. Gin and Tonics on the front porch. My nephews. My sisters. Wearing a tshirt and jeans while out shooting pictures.

But, then I remind myself this is for a better cause then some summer flip flops.

Labels: insomnia, inspiration, Island, job, late night, Manitoulin Island, money, Nunavut, travelling, winter, writing

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

Dear Chicago,
Remember that one summer when everything felt like eraly morning suburban lawns. wet grass that stuck to our shoes from running across other peoples front yards, laughing like loons, holding hands, crimped fingers, sweet breath on each other's necks. ?

The most recent heatwave brings you to mind, once again. No sense wishing to tranform the years back to where we used to be, but it brings such a warm flush to my cheeks to want it so. I just want to wake up there again. Wake up with your hand on my hip. Your mouth on my skin.

I guess I get carried away with the memory most times. All the time.

Wet summer grass. Makes me want to walk through front yards at dawn, just to get the feeling right.
I'll look for you in the weak light.
Love,
Gish.



I used to be such a grammar nazi, way back in the day. Now, I don't really care as long as my words get out there, regardless of which order they arrive in. Same deal for spelling.

I've been watching Durham County. I forgot how good Hugh Dillon was at portraying an angry man. Check out the link below for his new(er) project. I'll pick up the record when I get a chance. I love finding out I've missed the boat by a few months.
http://www.thehdrc.com/

Labels: Dear Chicago, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, love, True love, we all lose in the end, writing

entry
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

A page I wrote while I was in the Big House, as Matt calls it. I call it CrazyTown.

Labels: inspiration, Matthew Good, photographs, we all lose in the end

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

the border
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Dear Chicago,

It seems that some of us live our lives, aspiring or thinking of....'one day'. I have to admit that I'm one of those people. It's not a an issue, but the problem with that is...I'm not really sure what I want my 'one day' to look like.

I talk about these things with my friends. They tell me (which I think is a huge injustice) that it's ok, everything will work out and I'll be happy with whatever I end up with. One of my biggest fears is that I will wake up 10 years from now with 3 kids, a dog, an SUV and wonder what the hell am I doing. I'm afraid that I'll hate my choices. Afraid of boredom, the sense of having settled, the sense of not doing or being all that I can be.

Scary, heavy stuff. But, what the hell. I'm nearly 31 years old. At some point, I will have to stop thinking and start doing. Sometimes, I just don't know where to start.

I cross borders and look for new things, carrying on my love affair of maps.

I wish I could believe that my future lies in wait with one who has walked your streets before. Maybe he was shopping, or working, or just loving the way your concrete meets the ground. But, I stopped believing in fairy tales and fantasies in my 20's. I know there are those who, unlike me, are nursing hurts and broken hearts. Such luck to have held it for that time, and such luck to have another chance to find it again. And so much thought and effort devoted to and building up of achieving a single emotion.

It's foolish. And inspiring.

Labels: drama, fools gold, habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, layers, melancholy, opinions, photographs, relationships, underwater, writing

"I just did a Google search, and I came across this page. Sure, it may be nearly 3 years after your post, but that song isn't by Jeff Buckley. I don't know who performs it, but I downloaded it from a p2p program a few years back and it was labeled as a being by American Football, but I don't think it's them either.Strangeness. Very good song though."

This is a comment that was left for me at my old journal. The entry the comment was posted on is over three years old, something he/she mentions and I hate to be nitpicky, but I left a response to it anyway.

I said something along the lines of the song being by Jeff Buckley and that one can find it on his 'Grace' album. If he didn't write it, then at the very least he covered it.

Geez, at least know what you're talking about before leaving a comment. Although, it certainly livens things up around here, if not back at the old Blurty haunt where one can find over three years worth of Gish diatribe. Oh yes, I was vigilant. I updated almost every day. Here, I barely remember I have the journal. Trying to be better at updating.

Pete Yorn is really summer music. Not for the gusty cold days like today. If I weren't supposed to be chained to my desk today, I would go out and take care of some business. But alas, I must attend to duties here. Like a caged animal. Just kidding. I have an office at least, not a cubicle.

Friends come and go, but zopiclone is forever. Charging up my camera battery, ready to take some new photos and post them. I haven't posted anything I've taken in over a month. Mostly lack of inspiration, but that will change. I want to catch leaves jsut as they unfurl. Morning skies with the promise of sunlight, but the reality of clouds. Tomorrow after all, is another day.

Later, beauties.
G.

Lose You - Pete Yorn

Labels: habits, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, music, neurotic, opinions, work, writing, zopiclone

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

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

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

Someone, please...
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I miss the Tea Party, I probably have said that somewhere else before. I was called into work this afternoon, having only just returned home an hour ago. Long enough to change clothes and take some pictures, since I missed the 365 photograph of yesterday, being so tired, so blah, so Gish that I didn't bother with the tricks of light and lens.
if you could see this world with my eyes...
I remember getting excited for new albums coming out, but now that I'm older, I wonder. If there is anything to it. My older sister used to always tell me (usually at a Tea Party show) that is wasn't real. I could interpret that any way I like, but I took it for the music. Not real. We can listen, and love, and appreciate but in the end, can we feel it in our hands?
with a sweet wine....
Of course, she probably meant something else.
I think she's gone again...
In any event. I'm not really real. I'm only a ghost of who I used to be. Speaking of which, some weirdo on Flickr wants to worship my feet. I told him I demand money and time. I'm terrible, I shouldn't encourage them.

Track 12 - The Tea Party Triptych album...too lazy to look up liner notes, and you'd think I'd know this by heart. now strife won't let me go...

Labels: how not to be an idiot, insomnia, inspiration, late night, layers, Matthew Good, music, neurotic, photographs, photography, The Tea Party, writing

Buckley and Gish
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

Dear lover,
It's snowing where I am. Not that fluffy romantic kind, but the kind that gathers in thin, mean layers on the ground. Crystal onion layers. The wind is harsh, too. When I walked into the store this evening, I had to bend my body against the force of it, and curled my hands around my collar, as if I were a person in a movie.

I am stuck listening to Ryan Adams. I told Craig to tell his bass player friend to tell Ryan that I want to marry him. Sounds complicated, but it's not. How can one not want to marry a man who writes songs like Please Do Not Let Me Go ? I mean, really. 43 seconds from the end of the song, is my favourite part. You'd know that, though, being my lover. You'd know that I love harsh weather even when I complain about it, because it's what reminds me of the comforts of home. And you.

I know it's been awhile since I've seen you last. The days in between are many. The sound of your voice is a balm on what ails me. I pretend I don't miss you, or need you, or want you...but in the end, it feels like the sum of all I am. Terrible, to let emotion rule the daily being of a person, yes? Can you read/hear what I'm saying?

What keeps you, I know I can't get past it. Passed. I just have to let the days slide by, and have faith that I'll see you again. Soon. Sooner than I had thought, but not soon enough to stop my missing of you.

Please don't go skating in Central park without me. Don't check into the Chelsea hotel without my half of our signature. When I get my shit together, I'll come. The last train before the end, the sleeper cars are all full, I couldn't get a spot. I'd say meet me at the station but I'm not sure when I'll arrive.

Just send me a Valentine in your heart, miss my face even when you have no idea. Our time will be here soon enough.
Love,
Gish.

Labels: Craig, Craig Bancroff, drama, how not to be an idiot, inspiration, love, music, neurotic, relationships, Ryan Adams

my picture of my photograph
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
I'm all alone now, I can do as I please.....I don't feel like doing much of anything...
Spent time with some of the kids in my program. They were making hand drums. I don't feel much for editing or sorting through photos or else I'd post one of the kids with the slippery hide and tendons stretching to make taut surfaces of the drums. Time through our fingers, unnoticed.

I think of the new sheets and I just want to curl up in them, but it's still too early for bed. Grocery shopping with my older sister tomorrow. It gives us a chance to catch up, and she gets to pick what I eat (sometimes). I know I'm supposed to be thinking about some arty photography for the theme at The Cooperation, but the ideas I thought I had don't seem very good. And my 'get up and go'...kinda got up an left.

And I'm hooked on this song. My favourite part is 43 seconds before the end of it. This book I'm reading is not doing much for my sense of mankind. It's called The Demon Lover by Robin Morgan. Discussing the roots of terrorism. I don't know if it's something I can fully subscribe to. Because after all, we're looking for solutions, and one of the parts of that is to lay blame with someone or something. This book lays the blame on men. Man, in general. I'll either be a man-hating, frothing at the mouth kind of feminist by the end of the book, or someone who has just read a bad book.

I dreamnt about money last night. Lots of it. I suppose it's because I am constantly worried about not having any or enough. And when sad songs come on the radio, my thoughts drift towards the Apostle. I wonder what he's doing now, what he's thinking. If he misses me. Then I have to look in another direction or I'll get lost in that train of thought.

My face is just a disguise. Another layer to me that no one has really figured out. How many layers are there...? Not sure. Even I don't have all the answers to myself, I can hardly expect someone else to. Silly.

Maybe I'll rent Purple Rain tonight. Such a nostalgic movie, not to mention that Prince is 5'5 feet of pure sex. MMmmmm.

Please Do Not Let Me Go - Ryan Adams

Labels: Apostle, drama, inspiration, layers, music, neurotic, pearls, photographs, relationships, Ryan Adams, song

Dear Cowboys,
I haven't felt like I have anything interesting to say. Then someone tells me that Prince did a bunch of old songs at the Superbowl thing. I'm not a Superbowl kind of girl so I would have never seen it.

God Bless Youtube.
And Prince.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iK4EwxRLiik

I've been on this Prince kick since the original Apostle reminded me of the Purple Rain album. I even rented Purple Rain on pay-per-view last week. Then I had a good cry because someone didn't like where I was from (long story, not worth telling again).

My temporary job hours are killing me. I spend most days trying to sleep, except I keep hearing this ringing. By the time I finally figure out it's the phone, the person has hung up. I call Craig back because I miss him and leave him message. Then he calls me right back and we chat. He wrote a song called 'Nothing and Everything' for me and it's going on his new album. I'm a tiny bit afraid to find out what the song says, but curious as well. In my incapacitated state, I told him I just wanted him here, now in my bed to cuddle. It's something like -30 with the windchill around here lately. And I just can't get warm.

I've been eating popcorn and cupcakes for dinner a lot lately. Bad, I know. But quick, satisfying and that's all I'm after right now. I'm on a mission to take some photographs for a theme at The Cooperation. I have my song titles and I'm almost ready to shoot. I just need a few...erm...things first. I'm going to have way too much fun with this.

I have to spend some time with Buckley before he forgets I'm the boss, and show my face in the living room so my television set remembers me.
Love,
G.

Labels: cold, Craig Bancroff, cry, Gish, inspiration, photography, Prince, song