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

Waking up this morning to my cell phone screaming it's sound for text messages. I had put a Matthew Good ring tone on it to let me know when email came in...you know, just in case I was getting a super sized, time sensitive secret document from Viagra Super Plus store.

I don't know of such a place, of course.

I used to like that ring tone, but it's wearing on me now. I'll probably change it to my old Johnny Cash that I had used for the past 3 years. Sick, I know. But I don't really care about that either, at the moment.

So, awake. Sort of. The movie I fell asleep watching still on, ah the miracle of the 'loop' option. It used to be music that I slept to, but it's been not so the past few months, running around trying to pick up the loose parts of my mind. That in itself not a project nearly finished by any means.

Here I am, hours and hours later, having read all of the morning papers (in one article, my previous doctor gave up his license to practice medicine *anywhere, ever again* for crimes such as narcotics prescriptions, sexual abuse of patients, etc). I can't say I'm surprised, although he was never more than he had to be, when I was seeing him. Mind you, I never needed narcotics, either.

I suppose I should be grateful, to have a place half decent to wake up in, ring tones, cell phones, movies, and doctors that don't try to feel me up when he's dispensing standard medical procedure to all my known parts.

Which is it, thankful or dubious?
I'll decide when I wake up tomorrow.

Labels: cell phone, doctor, layers, neurotic, we all lose in the end, writing

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

sanctuary
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I haven't had anywhere that I would particularly like to be. Not for a long while. No place to rest my head and feel that I was ok, normal, loved and most importantly, safe. This past year has meant a lot of changes for me. The first, obviously moving to this new writing space. Which I am still not sure I will maintain, future food for thought.

When I lost it, my mind I mean. I never thought I would have any kind of meaningful support other than an imaginary kindly old nurse that would pat my knee reassuringly while I was being fitted for the straight jacket. I know that in myself, in my speech and some beliefs I have, I perpetuate the old myths of mental health. I know this, it's not intentional, at the same time it's not something I can see changing any time soon.

Given the events of this past week, I now know a few more things. That when you check into emergency by sliding a note stating "I'm going to kill myself" across to the receptionist behind the bullet proof glass partition, they whisk you away only to make you wait in a chair next to a drunk throwing up what seemed like gallons of red wine two seats over.

From then on it was completely "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest". You can all cheer and think it was a great thing when the indian guy broke the water fountain and walked away from the institution, but shit like that doesn't really happen. Instead, I was held in a room painted blue, they told me to put on the gown, I declined until further notice. I hadn't yet seen a doctor. The door, I remember, had a round fishbowl-like window in it, and they locked from the outside.

I lay down on the gurney, wrapped a sheet around myself and tried to be as small as possible until the ordeal was over. This is the latest in events that have been my effort to seek help for the severe depression I've been suffering.

I hear things like 'bi-polar', 'crazy', 'she's just one of those that are never happy people'. In ways I can't even explain, moods come over me and I'm helpless to stop or manage the emotions. It feels like I'm crazy, so I often refer to myself as such. It could be a lie, who really knows.

My family is angry and hurt that I didn't reach out to them for help. But even if I had, I wouldn't have had the words to tell them what's wrong.

I still don't.

Until then, I'm floating on a very thin carpet. I eat icy green grapes for dinner and pet Buckley whilst reading old Margaret Atwood books in the hope I make it through another night in my sanctuary.

Labels: cry, depression, how not to be an idiot, insomnia, layers, lockdown, lorazepam, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, pharmacology, Sylvia Plath, writing, zopiclone

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

Hawksley Workman once wrote a song called "Tonight, Romanticise the Automobile". Now, whenever I hear the word 'romanticise' I think of that song, hum a few bars and continue on with whatever it was I was doing.

The word reminds me of what movies do to my psyche. They make me believe, for short amounts of time (around 5 or 10 minutes) that my life could be like the characters in the movie. That I could casually walk along Amsterdam avenue in New York City and buy flowers for my little kitchen table, or maybe come across a stand that sells apples. As if there would be flower sellers or apple buyers on Amsterdam avenue. Wrong neighbourhood, Gish.

Crisp Royal Gala apples (currently one of my little addictions) and sunny yellow tulips that sit in a clear vase in the throes of death, but looking stunningly beautiful whilst they die. Simple things like sweeping the floor, watching Fall leaves drift to the ground.

Oh, and consuming products like Coke Plus, or Diet Cherry 7-up, eating blueberry donuts and smoking Capri slim cigarettes. Those are the things that I managed to experience while driving around small town Michigan yesterday.

And of course, the reference to life romanticized into tiny manageable bites, is because You've Got Mail is on. Which I am sure is not an accurate portrayal of life in New York, but I suppose that it doesn't matter right now.

I'm going to fall asleep in clean bright red sheets that I picked up in Michigan, and dream of possible, attainable things.

Not things like buying apples from a stand in New York or ideas of snorkeling gin and tonics in a swanky bar in the Upper East Side. Although truth be told, I am not all that interested in the swanky bar bit. People don't really live like that, right?

People shop at Target, they eat at Chili's once a week, and then go home to their bedroom communities of large cities with matching bed sheets and non-slip decals in the bath tub. I've got to just give up the ghost and find my place amongst them.

Bed time. Red sheets, an apple and a novel I've read 10 times before.

Labels: hawksley workman, how not to be an idiot, layers, neurotic, New York, travelling

401
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

A lost weekend, asleep in a curl beneath blankets and the soft whir of the ceiling fan above. Alternating between too warm and too cold, shifting covers when the need arose.

Been thinking a lot about people in my life, the ones that slip through your fingers or the ones you toss away because the sting of knowing them has lasted for too long. I'm not a good people person. In fact, I would be the perfect candidate for someone to be banished to a deserted island to wile away their days. Sounds comforting, even. But even more so, to just accept that you're not good with relationships of any kind.

Doesn't matter, though. There isn't any prize at the end of the road, awarding your outstanding performance in the relationship arena. No claps on the back or hearty handshakes. So why bother? Just hard to swallow sometimes. Like so many things.

Shrimp cocktail, gin and tonic and the Sopranos last night. My eyes deceive me, I'm not one for figuring out plots beforehand, so I was a little shocked to see what was unfolding. God bless me, I still love Tony Soprano. In a bad way.

Buckley and I in Springbank park this weekend. He gasps when we get there, straining on his leash to be let loose so he can rabbit around. Faster than a speeding bullet. That's my little boy.

Work time. I can't find words to say. Maybe more later.

Labels: habits, how not to be an idiot, layers, neurotic

It's funny how one night of bad sleep, and I wake up pissed off and cranky. How one day I can go from content with things in general, planning for the future to a cranky, uncomfortable, indecisive mess of a girl in her early 30's.

In the dark, I get all kinds of weird ideas. Things like how it would be so much better to get back together with an ex boyfriend. How things would be decided for me, the path of my life set out and I can mosey on along at my own pace, sure of what the next morning will bring. Day in. Day out. Comfort in the familiar.

then I talk to him. And I get pissed off that he's enjoying the tall poplar tree I planted in our old backyard so many years ago. I get pissed off when I hear it's grown taller than the house and looks great next to the crab apple trees. I get pissed off because he's gone on without me, happy in his 'new' life and unconcerned that I'm not there. Of course, there's a younger, prettier replacement warming his bed. Someone who's health and animal conscious. Someone who doesn't mind he stays up until 5 in the morning downloading games and his ambition to own an enormous house that they will never fill with a family. Just dogs, apparently.

This isn't what keeps me up at night, it's what sneaks into my mind when I can't sleep and I watch the light from cars driving by, make patterns on the ceiling of my bedroom. Lighting up for one moment, how empty I perceive everything that has to do with me, truly is at that moment in those hollow early morning hours.

I know it's wrong. I know it's not really what I want in the light of day. Is it normal, or healthy to be mad that he sounds like he is doing better than I am. Everything for me, in comparison seems to jumbled. Part of a bigger mess that I'm not really all that interested in cleaning up. It's hard to explain. The wants and apparent needs of the middle class group I should belong to aren't anything I normally aspire to. So when I yearn for the simple bland suburbia of modern life, it just makes me nauseaus and cranky.

I get cranky when I want the uninspired sort of life so many seem to lead. Because wouldn't it be a relief to be unaware for awhile? No more thinking.

Labels: fools gold, habits, insomnia, layers, neurotic

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

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

*Fearless
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.
This is the photo I contributed to the photo theme, a photo to match a song title. It's not what I wanted. But it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. Not matched even in my mind, with what I think of myself. Or how anyone else sees me.

Does anyone see me? Or do they all see me, and that's why there are hardly any people around me. Food for thought. If I think of food one more time, I will explode. Too many french fries. My fridge is broken. I tried to cook what wouldn't be wasted but I know I won't eat any of it. No cold drinks. No ice. That's what is on my mind.

That and things from yesterday. Many yesterdays. Think of me, when I listen to different songs. A day for sleeping. Sleeping on soft flannel sheets. Striped, like a man's bedding.

How would I know?

Can't someone appreciate In the Cut the way I do?

Labels: how not to be an idiot, layers, neurotic, relationships

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