running down the road like loose electricity

there's nothing grosser than the smokehouse when it's dirty. eugh. i look like i've been attacked by a grease monster and all i can smell is the nauseauting combination of bleach and slightly overdone fish and brine.

again: eeeuuuuuuuugh.

however, in less euuugh-news, the smokehouse is now clean and happy and awaiting a lovely round of fish to be smoked. the weather certainly is perfect for it: this morning when i got up, everything was covered in a heavy layer of frost. the sun made it look like they trees were bedecked in daimonds, and even the crows were silent for once.

i ran out in barefeet and took pictures.

they turned out like magic.

running down the road like loose electricity

i've lost my glasses.

i'm fairly certain that at some point in the nightly disturbance that is nim trying to make a nest they were knocked off the bedside table and are now hiding either under said table or the bed. however, anyone who wears glasses knows that if you lose them , it's nearly impossible to find them because you can't see.

instead, i've been enjoying peripheral vision that is 20/20 as of late. i'd forgotten how much nicer it is to be able to actually clearly see what's going on all across your field of vision rather than interpreting blurred images.

i also forgot that people think i wear coloured contacts.

with my new form of unobscured vision, though, i've suddenly realised that mom's basement is a terrible mess and that since the parental units are due home sometime tomorrow, i should focus on perhaps vacumming up the obscene amount of cat hair that has collected.

ah, vacuuming. maybe after just one more coffee.

and it's been all over you

the phone buzzes in my ear, an eerie monotone after the ugly cacophony of vowels and consonants directed at me just moments before. and here i thought i'd heard every combination possible to make words didty and insults sting.

apparently, i was incredibly, horribly terribly wrong.

however, since it comes with the territory, i simply shrug it off, and spend the next few hours replaying the same message for eveyone that walks in the front door: "ice....wind...no fish.... boss back....next week" and et cetera and so forth and so on until i actually begin to think that i am stuck in some kind of weird parallell universe where time stands still.

except, of course, it doesn't, and now it's nearing supper time and sunset, with streaks of golden light all through the trees in the east.

i emailed someone a piece of music just now. i'm hoping it can maybe help bridge a pointless and stupid rift that's opened up between us. i thought i knew how to fix whats come between us, but i seem to be lacking a starting point.

melancholic violins and eerie piano: don't fail me now!

i've got another confession to make

kate and i are watching the x-files.

"there's no way she didn't sleep with him!" i say, pointing to the picture dancing past on the screen: scully in an oversized men's dress shirt. kate nods her agreement.

i've changed twice since she's arrived. first, because i needed a sweater. and secondly because i managed to fling balsamic vinagrette all over myself and half of the dining room with my fork and a single slice of carrot. i've decided that from now on i should just wear a smock whenever i attempt anything that involves possible spillage.

which, in my life, means i should be draped twenty four hours a day.

look at those buzzards

i woke up this morning to three babies on the floor.

ok, not real babies. nim's babies. the small, round, balls of hardened polyester and cotton stuffing she likes to pretend are living were scattered across my floor. the odd thing is, though, pink baby was there. and i could have sworn that pink baby died a terrible [yet completely unintended] dryer death a few weeks ago.

the babies threw my morning into a funk. i can't help but wonder if there was some message in their random placement. they made a weird sort of triangle with a definate tendancy of westwardness. does this mean i should ignore all of the obligations of today and slap on my boots and head out to the fields? should i investigate that side of the house? will a message burned into the sky from the sun, or perhaps a shooting star, appear from that direction some time in the near future?

regardless, i ought to venture into the world: bills demand payment, and i've a sneaking suspicion that soup should be made this afternoon.

i can feel it

there's a certain smell in the air, a way in which the light hits the ground, a sound of creaking braches and birdsong that brings forth a certain ambition in me. i have this stange desire to run out and point out all of the tiny, minute things i see to complete strangers; to dig my fingers into their flesh while gesticulating madly at the sky above or the dirt below or the patterns that the bare branches make against the early spring sky.

however, since doing so would simply push me further into the "crazy" category [if, indeed, i could be pushed any futher down that path], i've instead decided simply to resurrect an old favourite: writing to the unknowns of the internerd.

as always, i promise spelling mistakes, a lack of capitals, and grandiose turns of phrase.

oh, and coffee. lots and lots of coffee.