'the adventures of a thirty-ish university graduate' or, alternately and perhaps much more aptly: 'as mad as a barking fox'

Sunday, January 27, 2008

see the stars shining like nails in the night

you know when you have one of those nights that starts off kind of ok and ends up leaving you with this shiny, sparkly residue, your cheeks huting from smiling, your teeth weary from exposure, and your soul all the better for a good hour's worth of conversation, had, of course, across a table littered with wine bottles and scraps and crumbs and basic remnants of a dinner party gone lovely?

yeah, tonight was one of those nights.

Thursday, January 24, 2008

we never talk of our lack of relationships

i might be mad, you know.

i mean that in the proper sense of the word- mad as in insane, off my rocker, one penny short of a dime, kooky, crazed. you know, mad like that.

i was offered a job interview today and i said no. it slipped out much easier than i thought possible- a simple syllable, softly drawn out. followed, of course, by rounds of 'thanks yous' and 'much appreciated' and 'thanks for the consideration' and the like. but the no- the no was what really mattered.

because a job was my goal.

and that is the second chance i've turned down.

[in my defense, i didn't have the wardrobe for this one, nor could i justify building one for five weeks of work. high end ladies fashion is just about as far from me as you can get. i'm sure that there's a place for my ratty cardigans and my men's sorel's and my hot pink tights, but, well, imported lines from enland just don't seem to me, really, that place i'm thinking of].

but really, i must be mad to keep saying no.

after that little syllable slipped out, i painted for two hours. and then i folded paper cranes. and walked out into the bitter cold, leaving a trail of red birds in my wake across the back stretch of parliament and the rows of streets that make up centretown.

my sorels fit in for that part of my day, at least.

Monday, January 21, 2008

just see how far it will go

i am finding the cold weather to be positively delightful.

my ears burn where i got frostbite once, and my nose runs, and my left eye waters until i have bits of icy tears stuck to my face, and my legs above the knees always kind of feel like frozen meat popsicles, but really, despite these minor annoyances, it's delightful to watch plumes of breath float skywards, and to see imprints left behind by others days [or even weeks] ago in the snow banks that line my walk.

i'm also partial to the high, clear skies and the intense shades of colour that seem to permeate everything when the sun sets in such cold weather.

yes, delightful is the best word for it.

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

the world is lost again but you are here with me

the sky today was this incredible shade of blue, fading away to creamy yellow on the horizon.

i stood behind parliament for what felt like hours, watching as the river slipped below ice, a sharp juxtaposition of dark movement and solid white tranquility. through some trick of the wind, the traffic was muted, the only sounds the soft intake and exhale of my breath, and the joyful sound of chickadees, flitting between branches in search of food.

i wrote a message in the snow, three, maybe four days ago. it reads: i miss you.

today i added the word 'still.'

and tomorrow, if it's still there, i'll add 'always.'

Monday, January 14, 2008

come together, yeah

in an odd twist of events- which, in no particualr order, included me dashing outside sans shoes in subzero weather, a broken elephant, talking about underwater logs and their removal, discussions of leechs and mice and foxes and seagulls, black currant tea, spilled beads and teeth hurting from smiling- i've ended up with a minor split lip.

abuse, i tell you.

it's rampant in this house.

Sunday, January 13, 2008

hang me out to dry

hot coffee, an over-hard egg with cheese on bread i made myself, indecipherable voices drifting from across the hall, segments of an orange slowly peeling away from each other, the sound of water sluicing down the drain from a hot shower, and the after taste of wine and staying up until nearly dawn with a book.

yeah, sunday mornings can be my favourite sometimes.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

i am no hero, that's for sure.

i've got this image in my head, and it's stuck on repeat, looping endlessly.

riding northbound out of toronto, on a greyhound. the sky is overcast and sullen and gunmetal grey and there's wind, but not the kind that makes your teeth hurt from exposure. the bus winds its way through streets, twisting and turning, escaping the urban ladscape. somewhere- i'm not sure, i don't know enough about toronto- we pass by a school, one that requires modest and old fashioned uniforms- skirts to midcalf, long jackts, clean faces. its pupils- all girls, from what i can see- stream from the buildings.

in particualr, my eyes are caught by a small group of four, their shoes, no doubt, making quick slapping noises as they rush home. their hair is flaxen, golden, dark, black, curly; their faces rosy, fair, pale and dark; their beauty endless.

i watch as the one in front throws back her head in a burst of laughter, her eyes dancing and her lips moving.

it's magic.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

the soul in its striptease

the january thaw is here.

yesterday i walked though centretown, buffeted by the winds with grey clouds racing past, catching on the tops of buildings and dripping fog into every imaginable space. today the sun was out, the temperature colder, and the wind slightly less willful, but the air still holds that particular something that always comes with unseasonable warmth in the dregs of winter.

i'm searching for a job- something temporary, something that will let me work out everything through repeated motion; non-intellectual stimulation. i turned down a day of envelope stuffing with twenty-somethings to have more time to wander tomorrow, to decide which piece of meat liberated from my mother's freezer will be pan-fired or oven-baked or seared or roasted or stir-fryed. i guess i need time to sort my socks and throw out old pairs of underpants. or something of the like. i just can't seem to put my finger on it, but i need the space to process.

in the meantime, it's vitamin b at odd hours, and the thrills of new books. i indulged myself with somerset maughm and- when it fell off the shelf and hit my in the face- douglas coupland.

i can't ignore signs like that.

i want this thaw to last forever. i'm dreading the return to snow-blighted sky and ice-encrusted windows and negative double digit temperatures before wind-chill. the bare bones of pavement, bleached white by too much salt, comfort me more than anything else i can imagine right now.

proably because they give me time to process. and breathe.

in. and out.