I had a good weekend.
I went to Duncan so that I could get some away-time from this zoo I live in. Not that I can honestly hate either of the people I live with, but it gets fucking claustrophobic in here. (And don’t even get me started on how things smell around here!) I used to get Saturdays to myself to recharge, but I don’t get that anymore – and there is simply no place to cut myself off from all humanity for even ten minutes. (No, not even the bathroom. Apparently even shitting is no longer sacred for longer than five minutes.)
Anyway, I took some time to empty my head onto paper, which is something I’ve been wanting to do, or rather, needing to do for some time. A total of about 15 pages worth of crap. Stay tuned says my subconscious, because I think there’s yet more up there. I wrote it and I’ve not looked at it again. Cathartic. Therapeutic. I talked some of those things over with mom too, rehashed some of the old crap and it helped me make up my mind about a few things.
I feel a bit lighter.
I also went to the beach, but there were too many people on it (!!) and the tide was too high for me to get much in the way of the desired solitude.
My cats are fat and relatively happy. Miss Kitten slept on me the entire Saturday night.
listening to: I Hate Everything About You – Three Days Grace
reading: The Manticore – Robertson Davies
eating: Chicken Caesar
drinking: yet another gallon of Arizona lemon green tea
feeling: harder, better, faster, stronger…
Yesterday I left the house at about ten thirty to go and catch the island bus. It was this bus or the one that left at 7:30am and there was no way I was getting up earlier on a day off than I normally do. Anyway, I get downtown a little early, which was the plan, so I grab a bun from one of the street vendors and sit on a bench to munch it and read some before I hoofed it down to the depot. I took one look at the lineup and thought that perhaps I should have got there a tad earlier. From the rumblings around and about I discovered that the people at the front of the line had been waiting since the early bus. I swear I should write some snitty little thing for the Monday about how, if they had not cancelled the 9am run, they’d not have this kind of issue.
So I park myself at the end of the line with my backpack and my book and settle in for the wait, figuring that if I don’t get on this one I wasn’t going to wait until the 4pm one – I’d just go home, no matter how much I wanted to see my poor kitties. The speakers blare that boarding is about to start, but could anyone bound for Duncan just please step aside to let everyone else on first, thanks? I blink and look sideways at the woman next to me.
“Did he just say what I think he said?” she asks, disbelief in her voice.
“If you heard it and I heard it, I think he did,” I say and shuffle off to the side where the people who had been waiting since 7, and about 12 others gathered in a sullen lump. One of the first set was slightly drunk and his girlfriend had one of those voices that carry no matter how quietly she tries to speak.
“This is total bullshit,” one of them says and I press my nose further into my book, more interested in the idea that Christopher Marlowe might actually have been a woman, than how pissed off these slightly seedy, overtired wackos were. At one point the bus driver threatened to not let them on the bus if they didn’t shut up and the girl got all apologetic, throwing up her arms.
“He’s really sorry, I swear to god!”
Eventually they decide that there are enough of us Duncan bound to warrant a whole second bus rather than a cab and we’re herded into a 70’s upholstered bus with loud orange seats. I finish my book just as we hit the bridge. We beat the original bus.
I mosey over to the city bus-stop that’s nearby and snag a schedule from the bus driver that’s leaning in the doorway of his bus, drinking a lemonade through a straw and I see that I have an hour and a half until my bus comes. So I went to the Starbucks nearby and got myself a lemonade, sat down on the bench and started my next book.
At one point a little elderly lady arrived but she would not sit on the bench because there was no shade, but she was chatty anyway and told be about how her son was getting married in August and how she had called her grandson to tell him she would be coming, and that she was going to bring her husband with her, even though he’d already passed on. Then she giggled and said
“I thought afterward that instead of an invisible man i should get one of those balloon men and dress him in a tuxedo and bring that with me to the wedding, but my daughter didn’t like the sounds of that. I’d better be careful or they’ll lock me up for a nut!”
Mom showed up before the bus did. My cats were suitably miffed with me for being away so long, but they tolerated some greeting hugs before mom and I went to check out the beach.
There were two tall ships in the bay shooting cannons at each other as they zoomed around. Judging from the colours, one of them may have actually been the “Bounty” that was used in MGM’s Mutiny on the Bounty. I was hoping the other was the “Unicorn” that was used in Pirates, but I don’t think it was. However, there was a woman dressed as Captain Jack Sparrow sashaying along the beach demanding rum from the beach-goers.
“But why’s the Rum gone?” She was nearly a dead ringer for Depp in the same getup.
The water was delicious. Yes it took me a good ten minutes to get in, but there is nothing, in my mind, nearly so good as floating about in the ocean. I swam out past the swimming buoys and across the the pub dock and around the swim raft and back. I floated, I glided I watched the ships sail past and I watched people drink beer and get tipsy on their pleasure-craft. Two teenage boys cannon-balled off the swim raft and a girl rode an inflatable dolphin back and forth. I think I was in the water for a good hour or more just alternately floating and swimming.
I had forgotten how much heavier one feels when one splashes back out onto the beach.
Then we went for fish and chips at Cow Bay which was yum. Miss Kitten slept with me the entire night, stretched out along my side. I’d forgotten that she snores little kitty snores.
This morning I helped mom pick raspberries and peas from her garden. She gave me some to bring home. I also clipped Cinderella’s toenails – or tried. It seem one on her front paw has grown into the pad. There was not a vet in today or I’d have taken her then, but Mom said she would this week. Poor kitty, no wonder she’s in a bad mood. Yet another thing to pay for… but then such is life, isn’t it?
I had forgotten, as I do, how much of a one-horse town that place is on the weekends. Nothing is open except in the malls, which I think is perfectly respectable.
On my way back home, I came through the grocery store parking lot and because it was so quiet (for a change) I heard this soft tapping sound. I looked up and there clinging to a dead branch on the tree above me was a tiny little downy woodpecker. It always amazes me how wildlife adapts to the urbanization of their world because this little guy was almost close enough for me to reach out and touch. I hope he and the little raptors I’ve seen don’t cross paths.
listening to: Amore part II – Achillea
reading: Mother Aegypt – Kage Baker
eating: fresh raspberries that I picked this morning
feeling: more relaxed
So very hot today.
Here I’ve been complaining about how cold it’s been and the world says ‘OK!’ and wham! Hello 29 degrees and hello sunburn. Eouch, I’m pink!
I really had no desire to talk to anyone today, but regardless I did speak to Penishead (yes, that is still his nickname, in spite of the fact that he’s been captured by a good woman) for a good hour or so. He’s getting married in November and since his fiancee is Greek… well it sounds like it’s an all out traditional bash. I just hope I can have things organized enough here to allow my to go to Calgary for it. Because yeah, even though he is a Penishead, he’s always been there for me and I wouldn’t miss such an important occasion for the world.
In spite of my desire to mince communication I was glad I got to talk to him, because I’d seen the pictures on facebook of R and T’s wedding and I wanted to ask how it went. And yes, I was a little sad I’d not even known they were having an actual wedding beyond their private ceremony a couple of years ago. It just demonstrated to me how out of the loop I am these days.
My own fault. Too caught up in my own piles of crap. Working on that though…
However, I’ve had (most of) this day to myself, which is something I needed. I think I need more than just 8 hours, but as it seems that’s all I’m going to get for a while I made the most of it. On the outside it may look like I’m doing nothing, but that is far from the truth. You see, my brain has returned. At least partially. We’re still not on the best of terms, but it’s not telling me I’m useless for the time being. So.
I have been thinking about the senses, and sensuality. For years I’ve read descriptions of the Taurean nature and skipped over the word as a given, but I was thinking about how much pleasure I get out of the little things. For example, the flavour of fresh strawberries fresh off the vine is enough to send me into raptures of the taste buds. Most people agree there’s nothing quite like it, but I could probably sit for ten minutes just tasting the damn berry. I swear a drink tastes different if you pour it over the ice rather than plop the ice in afterwards. White rice needs nothing but some butter and salt. I could listen to the same track repeatedly and get something new out of it every time. A single line of poetry, or a well-placed word can give me shivers. Floating in fresh water is entirely different than floating in salt.
I think this is part of the reason I do not do so well in high-speed environments. (And perhaps also why it takes me a longer time than others to adapt to change.) I like to take everything in, to notice, to savour everything. I’m not a sensation seeker in the normal sense – meaning I don’t go out of my way to find new sensations simply for the sake of the experience, but I think it’s an apt description for the simple fact that I get so much out of them – at least if I can stop and take it in.
Kind of a random topic, I know, but I was thinking how much I enjoyed the breeze on my skin and in my hair in this heat – so much so that I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and closed my eyes to take the whole sensation in. Weird? Probably. Do I care. Hells no.
listening to: Balligomingo – Lust
drinking: iced tea
word count: 413
word of the day: kinaesthetic
reading: H.P Lovecraft
headspace: sirenum fossae
Someone suggested that I just write whatever came to mind, you know, a stream of consciousness thing, in order to get all the crap out of my head. Maybe loosen up the writing muscles. So I did. I really didn’t expect 4 pages of crap in 11pt font, but there you go. I seem to have a lot in my brain… surprise, surprise.
After that I went for a walk to the beach. Lovely, lovely beach with the sun on the water, the smell of salt in my nose – gods it felt good. I lay down on one of the beached logs, closed my eyes and just listened for a while. The rush and hiss of the waves sucking at rocks, shaping the ridges of sand and tossing seaweed and flotsam up across the tide line. Endless. Relentless. Persistent. What stone can withstand water?
I’m slightly sunburned now, but I feel better. On my way back I happened on a garage sale where they were selling books for 25 cents. A dollar seventy-five later and I have the collected works of Allen Ginsberg 1947-1980, a medical dictionary of sorts, a selection of writings of Lucretius in hardcover, a copy of The Life of Pi by Yan Martel and three James Bond novels by the infamous Ian Fleming. They are 2-4 in the series but I could not resist, having seen all the movies repeatedly. Not bad for less than 2 dollars, I don’t think. I’m most excited about the Ginsberg since I’ve wanted a copy of the entirety of ‘Howl’ for some time that wasn’t e-text. And here it is – among all sorts of other gems the man produced, as crass as some of them are. Crass, I say that like it’s a bad thing. The man was breaking the rules of poetry and I can’t help admiring him for that.
Now I just have to find a decent copy of e.e. cummings and William Blake, among others.
Going to attempt some more writing perhaps… unless the phone rings again. *argh* I just wish I could remember where on earth I put the scribbles and notes for Dragonbreed. I suppose I had better ask St. Anthony for a hand, eh? He’s a sight better than Murphy all right.
listening to: Wasteland – Synaesthesia
eating: tortilla chips
word count: 2958 (and some of it is fiction!)
word of the day: catharsis
reading: Flesh and Spirit – Carol Berg (almost done!)
headspace: the eagle nebula
I feel like the bricks in the dam have started to crumble – at least in terms of writing. I’ve written a good couple of pages now, between cake-baking and various other birthday-related fun. It was a small torrent of words, but it felt good to just let them come, one after another onto the page. Of course, there are still random stones in the river that seem to have blocked up the opening again, but damn, the rush was fantastic.
Some of these bricks seems to be in the form of a 15 yr old who could end up here… I know I’ve said this before, but child services weren’t involved last time. As you can imagine I’m feeling a little blindsided by the development. It has been suggested that I write down all the things in my head to just get them out on paper, try and make sense of them. I get things out and then stare at the paper – watch the words bleed together. The solutions are there, somewhere. *sighs*
Ok, time to sort out some travel plans for next weekend. I’ve gone and misplaced what I had in my overzealous hard drive cleaning earlier in the week.
listening to: Fluke – Atom Bomb
eating: seafood salad
word count: 1850
word of the day: relinquish
quote of the day: “You seem so disconnected, But when I turn you on you’re so infective” [Electric Mistress – Jamiroquai]
headspace: the space between