As a conclusion to my previous post, I opted for the early sleep to night so the nap was scratched. I did take my mother’s usual advice for when I’m cold: do dishes, which relieved some of the messy problem.
While doing dishes I made up my new rule: I’m not allowed to post anything to my site unless it is accompanied by a picture. This is an effort to decrease words but increase meaning.
One of the greatest comforts: laying on the floor.
The first time in quite a while. Well, not including hangovers. Genuinely feeling a wee bit sick. It might be that I’m pushing myself harder lately, wanting to get things done and see results. That and the stress of knowing there are deadlines to those results.
But it is hard when I’m researching or coding and my fingers are so icy cold I just don’t want to take my hands from my pockets. I sit in the lab wearing sweater and jacket and I AM Chhiiiillled. So I picked up some hot chocolate on the way home from school to warm me up. I think I might even take a nap…screw being worried about my sleeping patterns.
I want cozy. I want someone to take care of me. I usually never want that because I like feeling free and independent but right now I want that. When I was sick my mom would set up camp for me on the family room couch. She would spread out a comforter and I would lay on it. Then she would wrap the free half around me and tuck it in tightly. I would lay there all day, drifting in and out of sleep. People would come and go and I would hear them upstairs. Comfort was when someone came down to see how I was doing. To sit on the couch almost on top of my legs. The extra weight magnified cozy, in my feverish states I would think it was a heavenly presence. Comfort was knowing you could let all go because your homework would be brought home and it would be okay to miss a piano lesson.
I hope I don’t get sick because I will only want someone here to care for me. No, I need to take care of things. My apartment is a mess and still smells like dinner cooked 3 nights ago. I have things to mail, things to sell. That and I think I will be moving out of here by December 1st. Looking for roommates if you know anyone in Vancouver. Yeah, after the messy apartment comment…hehehe. No really, normally I am very very clean. My focus has been elsewhere lately though. That and most of the mess is due to “gutting” my place – bringing out everything I want to get rid of. Reducing.
I hope I dream of sunshine tonight…will maybe sleep with a lamp at my face.
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That’s not really the title.
It is Saturday afternoon. Today is a day of talking, cleaning, organizing, doing, productivity, errands, etc. I’m trying to swing an impromptu yard sale tomorrow. Meghan is downsizing, reducing, minimalizing.
I’m going through my books, picking out the shelf candy. I have a very fat book of assorted Poe. I actually have 2 very fat books of assorted Poe and can never seem to rid myself of either. One has everything in it, the other was a gift from Julian.
I just opened up the former and went through the assorted papers stuffed inside. Memories are so great when they are saved in books. They surprise you more later.
What I found in that book was a print out of 2 poems sent to me by an old flame. A flame that burned fiercely bright in me at the time. I read them, not with a sadness of something lost which would be quite ordinary for me, but with a happiness that those writings came into existence and it just so happened that he sent them to me. A feeling of luck, a smile because I was fortunate to be an audience to someone’s personal expression. At the time, those poems had been pure ecstasy for me, they had been from him! Now they are a beautiful reminder of rapture’s possibility.
I found another poem. I think from the same person but you know what, I cannot remember. I really cannot. There is something satisfying in that too.
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Aargh, I started reading this Wired Article with interest. They are researching the “bits” leftover after bird-plane collisions. Snarge is what they call it. By determining what kind of bird, when, and where, they can hopefully make guesses on flight paths that will avoid bird collisions.
This is good, considering the environmental impact our transportation methods have in the sky, it’s easy for us to forget about that. But no it is not about that. In the news it’s never about anything but what negative impact it has on humans.
I thought I would continue to read about the number of plane related deaths per bird species. No, I read about the amount of money the birds are causing in aircraft damage. I read that they test a jet engines indurance to ingest an 8-pound waterfowl by “firing a chicken from a cannon at point-blank range”.
God I feel so sorry for chickens. Nature’s most abused species. We call someone a chicken because they are a coward but today I think it means so much more than that.
Thinking about the blogs I read. They most interest me when the author either: 1) Finds cool things, references them, adds opinions with a spin or 2) Has an interesting, busy, and unique life, and has something remarkable or from the heart to tell the world each day. I try to be inspired by those I really enjoy.
Unfortunately I can fall into a writing rut when: 1) I’m working a lot and actually not spending that time finding nifty flash projects ;) 2) My life is clinically boring (I try not to let that happen though and can’t remember the last time I was in that state any longer then the time it takes me to say “I’m bored”) 3) Things are really happening but they overwhelm me so much that I cannot process them into a precise, concise, entry. I’m currently in #3 and it is less external, activity based and more internally based. We all create a certain energy for ourselves and I had found that mine was not enough, or it needed to change. I am in the process of doing that and the doing is good. Still, it is hard to write about.
Luckily, when I do fall into these ruts, I have my dreams to fall back on. There’s always something happening when I sleep. Last night was a lot, so much I cannot remember so maybe it was like #3 above of dreamland. I do remember moving into a new apartment and I thought that purple walls in the bedroom + wood paneling was pretty dope. I remember having visitors, wandering the Vancouver streets at 3am though it was actually Regina, having and old UofR classmate flirting me and wondering why, and playing a keyboard and I was damn good.
I think I had a bad hair in my dream, telling me I need a cut. Last time was in April or May…can’t remember. Mike performed miracles with me, shaping my hair perfectly so that I could make a graceful transition between short bob to long hair. Now I’m here and I feel the mop is not representing the mind beneath. If hair could speak mine would have few things to say. So what to do with it? My constraints are: no dye job (I’m still in love with my recently born again natural colour), not shorter again (I am tempted to at times but it rounds out my face so much that I look like a forest animal), minimal hair product (sculpting and shaping must be in the cut itself), and finally, I should be able to wash and walk out if need be. Hmmm…
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