wondering where the lions are

my co-worker zach loves music.

actually, i don't think that quite describes his involvement with music. i imagine that were you to subject him to a number of odd and slightly freakish looking scientific tests, you'd find that musical notes, facts about singers, song lyrics and liner notes are actually embedded into his cells, actually contributing to his physical makeup.

about a month and a half ago, zach made me a random cd full of songs that i "just had to have." i finally finsihed putting them all on my ipod last night.

i don't normally listen to music when i'm trying to fall asleep, but i wanted to hear some of the songs that were supposedly necessary for my musical library. after ingesting some of the postal service, a smattering of sigur ros and about twenty minutes worth of jeff buckley, i randomly switched on the two bruce cockburn songs i'd been given.

my face hurts from smiling this morning.

and for the second time in almost six months, i feel asleep without that moment of feeling slightly crushed and quite lonely.

majesty.

days go by and still i think of you

awkward situations suck hard.

and when i'm awkward, i can't seem to find the words i need to express what i mean, to make myself clear, to ensure that my meaning is explicitly understood. i'm always so afraid of hurting people.

am i selfish for wanting stability?

i think so.

and then, at the same time, i'd like just for one moment to be able to jump up and down screaming "don't i deserve a bit of stability?" and pull out the trump card of broken leg plus lisle funeral part one and two.

in the words of chad kroegur: FURCK.

please forgive me if i act a little strange

the sides of the roads here are decked with bright yellows, pale blues, and ivory tones washed in a sea of green. occasionally, a burst of orange or red points to a group of potted plants under a mailbox or a section of tiger lily.

georgian bay was the oddest colour of grey this morning- so deep it was almost black, but shot through with silver where the sun reflected off of the whitecaps stirred up by the wind. by the time i returned to wiarton, it had changed to emerald green- deep and slightly menacing- the way i imagine the sea would look from the orkney islands north of scotland.

today the staff and i are going to paint our own landscapes of colour across sheets and socks and shirts and pants and pillowcases and everything else with more than ten colours of dye.

i think it's going to be majestic.

losing love to find romance

i'm stuck to myself again.

i was convinced i had something to say, some memory to impart to the wide expanse that is the interwebonetosphere, but the moon keeps catching my eye and i'm suddenly thinking of a thousand and one things i have to do before i return to wiarton tomorrow.

six weeks is an awfully short and terribly long time all at once.

electronical surgical words

a man [who later is identified as henry cyr] approaches us and begins to sing the blues to kate as she stands in her pajamas, illuminated by the flickering lights of the pizza store. it takes a few moments for me to realize that he only has one arm, but less than that to decide that he's crazy- a good crazy though.

later, as we're sitting on the back stoop, eating the pizza and hearing about morgen's adventures at the shelter, the wind creates a massive whirlwind of dust that makes everything instantly gritty.

we're all humming just below the surface.

when the first torrential rain ends, i'm on the balcony, soaked to the skin.

it's the first time in days that i've felt clean, and the dirtiest i've been for a long time.

i'm still humming below the surface.

the orbit of your hips eclipse

in the past week i have:

received marble from ireland, attacked a leech, heard about wounded cards and blowing doors off of buildings, eaten cherry pie, gotten really really REALLY fucking dirty, watched a pirate movie [with the large distraction of mr. depp's face wound], danced in my room, worn no underpants for a freakishly long period of time, sang myself hoarse, seen three deer, [deers? deer? deers?], driven quite fast for seven or so hours, slept with my head in a doorframe, spent over one hundred dollars on clothes for myself [ha! take that!], and melted entirely from unforgiving heat.

in the very near future, i look forward to dancing and pelee island merlot from fucking 2003, which has been my favourite yet. oh, and maybe some nakedness. because it's so fucking hot i feel like melting a la wicked witch of the west.

i still smell like fish.

i'm going to wait till the midnight hour

last night i "partied" with my mother and her friends.

[the term party here is being used quite loosely- what i mean is that we drank and ate and talked and yelled at the thunder and misbehaved and swore and had an all round party-like time].

i have to admit that it was pretty majestic.

oh, come away, oh come away, oh come

random thought number one:

the smell of sunscreen is one of my favourite things on earth. warm skin slathered in sunscreen is positively luxurious and entirely reminiscent of only good things- like trips to the beach with gramma or the trelinskis, or afternoons spent baking in the sun while creating imaginary worlds in your back yard.

random thought number two:

reading two books in one day is pure decadence. and when those books are high fidelity by nick hornby and eleanor rigby by douglas coupland- well, that decadence seems slightly over-the-top.

can't get enough of your love, baby

half one finds veronica, ben, zach, and i making our way slowly but surely through the waterfront campground in search of the infamous vessel. after hearing about him and his antics for more than three years, i'm more than excited to even catch a glimpse.

as it is, i'm not sure that the evening could have gotten much better: mom-food, pina coladas, fireworks in a most dangerous manner and bad movies start things off. when we decide to go to the pacific for a quick drink and some karokee, things improve exponentially when we step inside and are greeted by the sight of Fexel, one of our fishermen, belting out old country.

he buys us a round, sings barry white and drives home after telling us all the warning signs in the harbour and on the roads are because of him.

later, half way to the promised [and still entirely infamous] vessel, i stop, crane my neck and start slowly turning.

"where in the hell is cassiopeia?"

zach starts imitating me and we collide in mid twist, our whiskey and guinness catching up with us. there's a faint clink as the "danger: high voltage" sign he's ripped from a post somewhere connects with something metallic, and then we're on our way again, chasing veronica and ben.

when i woke up this morning, i had a strange bruise on my left knee, dirty hair and no less than eight mosquito bites.

amazing.

[also: danger will robinson. this could be tricksy].

c'mon now

last night, as mom and i were throwing pieces of fabric swiped from ella, the roomate from hell, tom noted that my legs looks like two glaciers. or something. he couldn't quite find the words to describe the white sticks peeking out from my ridiculous skirt.

i've come to the conclusion that summer is slipping away and that if i don't get skin damage soon, my body is going to continueto think that it is february forever.

in other news- my new glasses are outstanding. for the first time in forever, i like wearing them. perhaps it's the rhinestones?