I'm tired, but don't feel like going to bed. I want to keep reading a book I've read before, on the couch in the living room, covered with an Indian print sheet of fabric I picked up in Galway. The quiet cleanliness of the living area and the sound of a light rain pattering on the poplar leaves outside is a balm on what ails me.

I don't really know what ails me. Nothing new, I suppose.

Cigarettes I light, burn too quickly in the ashtray. There isn't enough time from when I wake up to going back to bed to fit in all the leisure activities I want to indulge in. I guess this is where the wish to be independently wealthy comes in.

Grateful for joy in small places.
- I still have a carton of 'Irish' cigarettes left in the freezer.
- there was no ring on his left hand.
- my washing machine works perfectly.
- the water that comes out of the faucet is hot and ready.
- Matt gave us a preview of a track from upcoming album on his website.
- my living room is unpacked and I have a new reading perch.
- the wind billows the dining room curtains in a quiet wispy way.
- the rain.
- I have 14 new-to-me movies to get through.
- Bailey is starting to forgive me.
- my laptop still plays music to me, like a lover.
- I bought a new copy of Micheal Clayton and have watched it 3 times since I got home.

Above photo was taken shortly before we left Inishbofin to get back to mainland in Ireland. I lagged behind, smoking and taking photos. Thinking to myself. Lighting more cigarettes.

I'm told one will be in a funk after a vacation. While feeling not too bad, there are small periods of melancholy that sneak in. I take this to be normal. For me, anyhow. I catch myself planning another big move and mentally tell myself to stop, enjoy the current location as it's only been a couple of months and everything is good here (so far). I feel like a shark that can't stop moving.

I feel like I could like the taste of blood.

Labels: depression, joy in small places, melancholy, settling, settling in

I want to say I don't want to update, or that I don't have time. Twice, today I have thought that I was leaving in the morning and had absolutely nothing packed. I'm going to live in the stupid arctic circle and haven't packed so much as a sock. Or, I'm sure that I will get there and remember every single little thing that I need, that is not available to me.

Or the fact that Buckley, Marble and Beebs are sticking to me like velcro, and it's making me sad that I won't see them or be with them all the time, like I am now. Always with them, unless I leave the house. Something is making me tip off balance but I can't figure out what it really is, if it's just the leaving. But I like leaving. Leaving means *going*. Going somewhere, doing something else. And believe me, there isn't much here I that I enjoy. It's an island, with a bunch of deer. Not as though I'm leaving anything spectacular.

I did manage to pack two BIG suitcases. Then after I've sat on them, and closed the zippers, I wonder if maybe I packed them 'right'. As in, did I maximize the space? Did I get in the big suitcases what I wanted to? Don't forget the carry-on.

My god. The carry-on is full of crap that I don't even know why I'm taking up there!

What's next?!?

Labels: Beebs, Buckley, cat, freaking out, going, Manitoulin Island, Marble, melancholy, moving, packing, pets, sad, 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

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

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

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

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

Labels: melancholy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Most times I don't update is because I'm tired when I finally get near the computer that I can't think of putting emotion into words.

Tonight, or this morning rather, I'm just going to bed, it's 5 a.m. A perfect example of insomnia for any of those doubters out there. Not feeling so hot lately, think I might take a trip up North to visit family for the holidays. Maybe I will stay a few days longer to recharge before coming back to London.

There was something about driving through the rain slicked streets at 3 in the morning. The rain beaded down the windshield at stop lights. The reassuring sound of the wipers scraping water from my vision. My cigarette smoke swirling out of the window. It was something profoundly lonely. Not lonely for some stick of meat in bed with me. Not lonely for lack of people. I guess lonely that it seems I can't roll up my sleeves and get my shit together like everyone else on this planet. I don't want to be that girl who is perpetually floundering through life. No one is able to fix that, just me. And it's a bit scary because I'm not sure if I am able to. Or even know how to.

This has been a self pity party for myself. I'm sure everyone has gotten their invitations. Cheques are in the mail.

G.

Labels: bipolar, melancholy

A live with a new laptop, at last. I'm not altogether too sure about the bonding process as there seems to be little quirks this laptop likes to through in at inopportune times. Maybe it's the brand, or the way I'm pushing it around so that it can resemble at least partly my old laptop.

Just dreams. Wishes.


That's Buckley, he's more interested in the ground these days. I don't really know if I have the heart to drag him to New York. All thoughts of Columbia are on the back burner for the time being. I'm half thinking of heading down that way within the next few months. Early, very early.

Or maybe Ireland. I know what it is. I just want to run away from whatever has it's hold on me here. The friends I thought I could count on have troubles of their own and I can't waste anymore of their times with telephone calls and emails.

Dinner with my sister today. We both left halfway through the meal. I'm considered rude and defensive. I think that some things should be left alone. There is no win-win here. It's like we're back to where we were before I had any kind of breakdown.

I knew it. True colours always bleed through, no matter who you think the person is.

Labels: depression, dinner, family, melancholy, New York, run, running

weapon
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

here by my side, it's heaven
here by my side, you are destruction...

I'm not one of those girls that has a gazillion huge tattoos all over her body. I have 5 small ones, one is a drawing and is about 1.5 inches in size. The other four are choice words or phrases that I like and they are all hidden from view, or can be with bracelets.

For instance, the latest one is Weapon. I put it on my right wrist. We hurt other with our hands We type or write words that sting like nettle. It's also the title of my favourite song by Matthew Good. That song came from a time I believe as having woken up from a suburbia-induced coma. My right hand is connected to my heart.

The only problem with that is, once you're awake, you can't ever get back to sleep. careful...

I wanted to write something more whimsical, but I'm sleepy now. The telephone was ringing off the hook yesterday but I hid from it under the sheets. Today not such a good day, I guess I was crashing from the good days I had earlier this week. I feel as though I can slowly wind myself up in the red curtains Sylvia Plath was making when she killed herself. What a poet.

So...bed time.

Love, Gish

Weapon - Matthew Good

Labels: blue pills, depression, Matthew Good, melancholy, neurotic, photographs, song, Sylvia Plath, tattoos, zopiclone

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

Out Now
Originally uploaded by Abstract Magdalene.

I'm not a positive person. In that I don't look for silver linings, or rainbows, or expect the best from people. This hinders me in some areas, however it also saves me the crushing disappointment I may suffer as the result of someone's lack of....follow through, if that makes sense.

I've been on the Lam for quite awhile, ignoring both Flickr and my journal, as though they are simply more places I need to report to. But today, the sun is out and it's warm on my skin. I ate an apple this morning during my commute and for some reason, things do feel like they are looking up.

I was applying for a new car, I had decided on a Ford Escape Hybrid, however due to financing issues it's not likely to happen at this point. And right now, I'm ok with it. Earlier this week, my electricity was cut off because my landlord failed to pay his bill. However, the deal was that I would have the bill in my name and make the payments. Genius-guy, however never closed off his account and thus, I was not able to set up my own. Then he just decides to not pay the bill at all, resulting in two nights by candlelight. And thawed groceries in the freezer that had been bought the day before.

I was livid. Now, I've paid the bill *for* him and deducted it from the rent, have the utility in my own name and things are running smoothly again (for the time being). But then my laptop decided to have a fatal error and while it was nice enough to give me time to TRY to get some documents from it (mostly music and my art), it is slowly coming to a stop. The good thing: it's still under warranty. The bad thing: potential loss of my entire music library, and it will take about 3 weeks for the company to ship me the repaired laptop.

I know, when it rains, it pours. Instead of sitting here and being a big baby, I have decided to go to the Island and surprise my mother for Mother's Day. It's a long trip and only over night, but I might as well do something lovely for her.

Work is still work, and I'm still doing it. Buckley was scheduled to meet with a trainer for his bad behaviours this weekend but that will be rescheduled. Unfortunately for him, his neuter surgery is scheduled for Tuesday. *grin* Poor guy.

In the meantime, I've misplaced Mrs. John Cusack (my iPod) and I have to go out and buy a bag I can pack with weekend essentials. I know, I'm the best of the drama bitches. There's more to it than this, I just can't seem to scratch the surface.

Labels: how not to be an idiot, late night, melancholy, music, relationships, work, writing

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

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