what day is it anyways?

I’m back home in C.L. for New Years. It’s nice and peaceful, with lots of snow and warm weather. Bickering with the parental units a little bit, but that’s pretty normal. My dad (understandably, really) likes to light into me at least once a year with a fairly solid day of ranting towards why I’m such an idiot for smoking. And, again, it’s understandable, for reasons I won’t go into, but egads….it started before I even said, “good morning” today. It was like, “I see her head as she’s coming up the stairs, so here I go! Launch those ICBMs, stat!”

Really, I will quit smoking. Probably I’m closer to it now than I’ve ever been. I consistently have told my Dad this in the past, and he consistently chooses not to listen entirely, or chooses not to listen until he sees results that satisfy him. And, like me, he’s got a mouth that sometimes runs off without much thought.

I played the petulant teenager this morning to get him off my back, and gave him the silent treatment. I say “played” the petulant teenager, because getting into a war of words with my Dad when he gets going, is pretty futile, because we’re both bullheaded and we don’t back down from each other. Plus, swearing in front of my Mom– never a good idea.  

 In other news, I think I’m going to spend all of tomorrow outside fixing the skidoo, because tinkering with it and getting it running again always agrees with me.  Over the weekend I also drafted out a design for a skidoo cart to make for easier storage of one’s snowmobile in whatever space they have. It’s currently nicknamed “the Ass-Picker”, and has a fairly simple design that I think I could construct, given some pretty simple materials.  I came up with it because I hate how my parents store theirs…under the deck, with logs under the skis and track. It’s covered with a canvas, but that’s it, and skidoos are more finicky about the effects the elements have on their components it seems sometimes. Well, at least old pieces of crap like my parents machine.

In other news… I started a hard journal, after Bento and I went out art supply shopping with our Christmas money. It’s pretty cool, but I’m still feeling a little limited with materials at the present. I’m thinking that’s pretty normal though when first starting these things, so I’ve just supplemented any entries with art. And it’s nice to sit down and work on. I do regret not getting the hardcover though. I hope that doesn’t bite me in the ass too badly. I’m also sort of stymied by the materials I do have, because it is a very nice optomistic idea to have them all on hand at all times (ie- carry it all around with me), but that’s a lot of crap to be hauling around all the time. And I already haul around a lot of crap besides that.

Photo opportunities have been muy bueno out here. I’m sorry I didn’t have the camera last night though when a particularly stupid skidooer was doing cat-walks on the shovelled ice rink out on the lake. I’ve never seen a skidooer do that before, it was pretty enthralling, but his machine was making a noise I’m sure was similar to a screaming rabbit. It was really awful. 

“God this, Lord Jesus that,” and my family vacation saga

On the subject of family related events. That’s all I have to say about that.

Getting a little bored out in the political netherlands of the country….

I’ve been reading this other book that Bento got me for Christmas, in between sips of beer and doing nothing, called “Drawing From Life: The Journal as Art”, compiled by Jennifer New (or is it New Jennifer, I don’t know…ha). This means that I’ve been really restless to begin compiling a journal of my own, because the book is completely inspiring. I have an idea in my head to quit smoking and use that income to buy acrylic markers, a good hardcover sketchbook, and other assorted art garbage, and an ink pen, to get going on this for myself when I get home. Problem is, I want to start it now. I’m itching to start it now. I have my poem book here, but it seems wrong to just start a journal in the middle of it. I should dedicate a whole book to the beginning of a whole new saga of  documenting things.  Plus, the poetry book is …limited to poetry. I can’t just flip it open and do anything artistic necessarily, it seems wrong. I need a “mixed” book, where I can slop around and do both I suppose, with that actual intent in mind. Plus, the pages of the poetry book, though unlined, are narrow. I want more playing room than that.

So I’m left here, fiddling my thumbs restlessly. I itch to see my family for a lot of the year for some reason, and then, when I’m here, I itch to go home just the same, because rather than sitting here doing nothing but being the designated babysitter, I could be at home, doing anything else and at least being productive. Can I find a pencil sharpener here? After a six hour search. Did I bring the right paper for the chalk pastels? Nope. Did I remember an ink pen? NO. 

So yeah….I gots nothing to do. I sound like I’m whining, but it’s not so bad really. I get to spend lots of time with the kiddo, who is constantly constantly delighting me with the things she does, and learns instantly. Last night was particularly memorable, because the two of us sat and played while watching “A Charlie Brown Christmas”. And, because she’s my niece first and foremost, she paid absolute rapt attention to all the good parts. That’s pretty good for nine months. It bears mentioning that she already gives the dirtiest best raspberries of any person I’ve ever known. Her dad (my brother) taught her that.

I escaped down to the village this morning and had a cafe americano. This cafe americano, I should mention, is one of the best ones you’ll find anywhere in the country. It’s perfect. It’s made with magic hippy juice.

I want to be an over-achiever for Christmas

I woke up this morning with the paralyzing fear that I’d had a monumental dream full of monumental words that I should have got up out of the dream earlier to write down, but had not. My brother’s house is cold, because this province is freakishly cold right now, and I thus burrowed into the air mattress that cradled me swaddled like the baby jesus, and forgot everything.

I’m fairly certain that the dream called for an overhaul in the way I write poetry though. It promised success in new experimentation rising from the stank [1] of familiarity. The familiar in the dream was a small variation of my hometown and the people that reside in my hometown, but with funky twists occurring around every corner to switch things up and put things in a new light. Hence, the change. Usually when I dream about the hometown, it is the most stagnant and unchanging landscape I can conjure up in my imagination. This must seem like a weird post, but I feel like I’ve been verbally constipated for the last week or so. Why must the words flow now, and not when I want them to? I don’t know.

I’ve been reading Alexie Sherman’s new book also, “Ten Little Indians” on my luxurious frigid vacation as I luxuriate on the air mattress with the perpetual leak, and the 6 a.m. baby wail wake up call. It’s a great book. I know I say, “read that book” so many times to so many people, and they read the books I reccommend and sometimes are highly annoyed that they wasted their life, but this, this is a good book. It’s decidedly laugh-out-loud funny, and at the same time, very meaningful.

Oh yeah. I got a new camera. It’s a sony DSC-H5 with a 12x zoom, and I want to scream like a little girl every time I pick it up. My parents were in Rona and they were taking too long, and I could zoom from a mile away and tell my sister in-law what position in line they were at. It is horrifyingly cool.

[1] This is a word that I feel is both too restricted and or underused in our vocabulary. Just say it to yourself, it’s a wonderful word. Are you saying it? Can you genuflect on that hard K?

The blizzard and the red phone and you didn’t show

Today, I got the crap spoiled right out of me. It was really hard leaving J. (my mentor teacher) and leaving the kids, not knowing when I would be back, only that I would be back to visit, for sure.

It’s been turbulent too, because it puts me that much closer to the grand finale that is my degree. I realized this morning that by this exact time next year, I may have a job, I may live in a completely other province, and Christmas will be an authentic worry for me, rather than my current status of just being a spoiled brat who doesn’t like change in family traditions. In four months, I’ll be graduated.

When I think about how quickly the last five weeks passed (it seems like it’s only been two weeks), I know that 9 weeks is going to be a blip, because I’m going to be a lot busier than I was during the IPT.

Last night was also the final shift at the deli, which was a very heartwrenching thing for me. I don’t like that I’m not going to have that regular communication with everyone anymore. Sometimes I would get annoyed with how much I took in of my customer’s problems, but now, I won’t know how they’re doing. On a funnier side, at least four of my regulars asked for my number, because they didn’t want to have to forgo our “visits” just because I wasn’t working. And, feeling as I do about the people in our building and across the street now, I have a feeling that I’m going to have to go give the replacement a thorough lecture on how to treat all these so-and-so’s that seem to have grown on me.  And I hope my replacement isn’t a dick.

I’m pretty tired. I got ditched tonight. I think it is because of the weather I got ditched, but it wasn’t that bad that it didn’t warrant a phone call. Fuck that’s annoying. People who have Luddite-like tendencies, should not attempt to be friends with other Luddite-inclined people, because no one phones the other back, no one leaves messages on the machine, and cell phones…well, that’s just ridiculous.

she wouldn’t say

I’ve been listening to the Beatles since I got to school. Right now, I’m listening to “Yesterday”, and it really matches my mood. Something set in yesterday, that makes me feel a little depressed. Part of me thinks it’s just hitting the low part of the high and rollercoaster-like ride of all this teaching lately, but I think I’m just depressed about the rest of my life, outside of all of this school stuff.

Of course, hanging out with your clueless ex is always a good idea, especially if it’s keeping you from work, and you decide to divulge way too much personal crap to him than you should ever concieve of saying to a total idiot. Going to bed late– also a genius idea. Sleeping through your alarm for the second time in the week, waking up your roommate who IS mad because he’s awake way too early again, to shake you awake–also a great idea. 

Sometimes I feel so incredibly removed from my body, because I feel like I’m just constantly watching myself be the idiot, and consistently being the idiot, all the while watching it predictably unfold from some deep recess not attached to my physical self or something.  I do know that I’m an idiot, I just don’t know why.

Secret admirers, by the way, are utter bullshit. This has been occupying my mind way too much, and it’s not worth the heartache to wonder about someone who is probably just as problem-infested as any other man I have “luckily” stumbled across. So, you secretive bastard, if you’re out there, your margin of opportunity narrows by the minute. I don’t encourage advancement of the troops- I have a blender (and by blender, I don’t mean white pencil crayon, HA- Oh god, art jokes), I’ve used it before. 

On that…the only peace I’ve been finding lately, is when I am by myself. I have been feeling happiest when I’ve been by myself. Not to say that I’m not happy being around my friends, because I am, but lately, I’ve been on an autistic joyride when I’m not at school, and weirdly, it is enjoyable. I sit, have coffee, smoke, and do any number of things by myself, and listen to music. And it’s blissful to not have to open my mouth to say something that someone wants to hear.  I am looking forward to seeing some people on Saturday hopefully. And cussing. Cussing is something I’m looking forward to.

In conclusion, I have a rage-on, summed up with the ex calling me irrepairably damaged goods yesterday, “but I still love you, so why not come back to me?” For many reasons that I can’t even explain, this just makes me want to shut out all of humanity and walk around deaf and stupid. I can’t handle the things I think about sometimes, how much I see the same things over and over again (history repeats itself, with very small variations a la maturity), and the length of time I’ve known what I know about anything.

I was thinking this morning, as I sat here at this brand new Dell, listening to the Beatles in the year 2006. If a picture was taken right now with film or a digital camera of the age, how would we think about that image 15 to 20 years ago. When I look at my mother’s pictures of the seventies and eighties, I see warmth, old vintage things, fresh faces, and a blissful ignorance of things not yet lived.  And I wondered about things not yet lived, because good fucking lord, I feel like I’ve lived too much already sometimes. I feel like an old woman who should go live in a cave and die.

<end rant of random crap easily cured by sleep and the end of this fucking practicum HERE/>