shot full of holes

is is terrible that it's almost half nine and all i want is a big, bottomless, party mug of black coffee?

if decaf were actually decaf, i might have a serious problem.

as my hands adjust your hair

i had this terrific flashback to being thirteen this morning.

(i'm not sure if i mean terrific in the archaic sense or the modern. because, really, who wants to be thirteen, ever? it's terrible and terrifying and so confusing. but at the same time, there's so much potential when you're thirteen, so many possibilities. i'm inclined to think that my flashback was a little bit of both, to be honest).

anyways, in my transportation to FOURTEEN YEARS AGO, i can feel the rug i'm sitting on- it's braided and is pale blue and ivory. there's a dresser acting as a sideboard off to my left, and a futon that's in bed mode behind me. josh is sprawled on the rug slightly in front of me and to my right, and carly is in the rocking chair behind me to the left. we're watching music videos on much, making fun of them, trying to decide if there's a plot at all, and just, in general, being mouthbreathers.

all of this was brought about by youtube suggesting i watch elton john music videos. i'm not sure how elton figures into being thirteen, but it certainly made for quite the pretty mental picture.

she jets a path north, past the pitiful port

i walked in to work this morning with a scarf wrapped around my head, my legs feeling strangely naked in tights. carson is standing in the back, tossing a rubber bouncy ball and catching it with a small plastic cup. without saying anything, he grins and picks up two cases: one is the cd case for journey's greatest hits (which, sadly, or not, depending on how you look at it) holds iron man 2. the second one is from the indian river convenience store and is titled due date.

we sit in the back watching robert downey jr. movies for most of the day, eating blackberry currant muffins and laughing at juvenile cursing.

yes: my life is tough some days.

(although, one customer, after talking to me over the phone but not actually seeing me in person, wondered out loud if i were carson's mother. perhaps my penchant for archaic language is seeping out in to spoken word? maybe i sound like an eighty year old on the phone?)

turning your orbit around

i made a pot of minestrone soup last tuesday that i was really really pleased with. it has cabbage and beans and carrots and tomatoes and a whole bunch of other good stuff in it whose flavours have all blended together quite nicely in the past few days.

the only problem is that the recipe i followed resulted in enough soup to feed, oh, you know, the state of texas.

tomorrow, i need to buy some tupperware.

weep for yourself my man, you'll never be what is in your heart

i drove down country this afternoon.

[as an aside, man, what a colloquialism that is: down country. geographically, though, it makes sense from where i am. and in my mind, it also seems strangely apt. down and under and beneath in tales and myth and legend always seem to mean that strange otherworld that sits just beyond our own. and i feel that this is strangely apt when i drive south: it's real, but totally unreal all at once].

the sky was absolutely stunning, and as the sun set it made all of the windows of the houses on the left side of the road light up, on fire with oranges and gold. to the right of the road, the ponds of ice- remnants from the thaw last week- created an astoundingly dangerous glare.

i can smell spring in the air.

this year is going to be so good.

i am for real- never meant to make your daughter cry

i walked downtown yesterday under a sky so blue it looked like technicolour. the pavement on my road has been heaved by the recent february thaw. its texture is something close to lizard skin, but it looks like bleached bones, the salt staining the asphalt a dry white. when cars go by it's like standing by the ocean: traces of salt sitting on your lips and in your hair.

i cleaned out a drawer that has, through some default, become a dropping ground for everything from pine cones to bill stubs. there's melted candies, an old driving license and a ruler from high school in there as well.

the best, though, are the letter remnants.

i like to send real mail, but sometimes i don't finish letters before the news has been overshadowed by something new. sometimes, i'll read what i've written and think "what in hellfire were you smoking?!?"

mostly, though, i get a good picture in my head.

try this on for size:

"it is morning. not too early, but early enough to find me wrapped in a blanket and savoring my giant mug of coffee. all around me are expanses of hardwood floor, patterns of light dashed across them through old glass. the cbc is playing something dreadful (organs! aaaahh), and the sound is drifting in from the next room over. outside of every window i can see (of which there are four) i can see trees and laves and exciting outside things. everything smells like paint or wood polish. and i- well, i don't know for sure if words could possibly suffice in quite describing how much i love this house. it's pure magic, everything is beyond explicable. i can't wait to show it to as many people as possible."

i still feel like this every time i see my roof against the sky.

here we go

i took up running last month.

ok, well, i guess it's not technically running, since i'm using an elliptical machine, but it's as close as i'm going to get with good ole bronty making his presence known every time the barometer changes. anyways, i like to think of it as running, even if the sub-par machine i am using depicts my travels as a scary looking impossible-to-ride bicycle on its little screen.

i like to run to music, but have discovered that i am kind of lacking the right kind of music to run to. i mean, yeah, i get thrills out of listening to peter gabriel, or coldplay, or a metric crap-tonne of U2, but as fodder for running? not so much.

i went on a "music to run to" search last night.

i now have things like lady gaga and the black eyed peas in my music library.

oh, the shame.

they build it up just to burn it back down

i'm continually baffled at the phenomenon that is being-so-tired-you-must-sleep, yet-you-are-unable-to-sleep-because-your-brain-will-not-shut-up. there's probably a scientific name for it, but since i am suffering from the after-effects of such a night, i feel too muddled to look it up.

perhaps a second coffee, AND THEN A THIRD, is in order?

i'm moving past the feeling

i like words with double meanings.

takes the word devastating, for instance. it can mean complete and utter ruin; reduced to nothing; chaos. but it can also mean to reduce to helplessness; to render one unable to act; to stop one short, in short. often, this latter meaning seems to be applied to something that is beautiful, something that grabs your breath, something that startles you with its presence in an unexpected way.

i have this image perfectly etched in my head of the way my friend looked when i rounded the arched opening into the front parlour of the funeral home her mother's service was at last saturday. she is tall, and statuesque, and her hands are uncharacteristically still. she is impeccably dressed, and her face is composed, except around the eyes, where the weight of grief has left a hint of its imposing presence.

she is devastatingly beautiful.

devastating, because it is obvious that chaos has been a part of her life for the past five days. devastating, because in her body language one can see the loss she has suffered perfectly. devastating, because she mirrors in her grief everything my heart is feeling for her and for her brother. but mostly, she is devastating in that she renders me speechless- unable to act, if you will- by the obviousness of her strength of will and spirit.

and she is so beautiful it takes my breath away.