| ibuprofen junkie |
[Sep. 27th, 2005|12:19 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | awake | ] |
| [ | music |
| | rufus, want two | ] |
Today I ignored a headache for five hours out of stubborness. Stubbornness? Anyway. I knew I had ibuprofen somewhere in that enormous mess of a storage room and I knew I just hadn't unpacked it yet so I really didn't want to buy another bottle. I did find it eventually, but I think that having those five hours back would have been worth the $3 for a new bottle. It's not like I won't use it.
M's first day back at school. It was great to see all her little friends rush up to her in their squeaky little voices greeting her enthusiastically. It's good to see other kids liking your kid. I know she's bright and friendly and atractive and kind and impossibly charming, it's just nice that everyone else is perceptive enough to realize that, too. I kind of overslept this morning and I felt like I rushed around to get ready. Tomorrow I have the alarm double set. You'd think at my age I'd have getting out of the fucking bed down pat even if everything else is a mess. Inhaling and exhaling, I'm good with those at least.
I came back here and had a breakfast laying down with a yellow bedspread hung haphazardly over the bedroom window. I have to get some curtains. Somewhere, someone has told me that jeans on the bed is bad. Why do I feel all wrong inside when I wear jeans and lay on the bed? Going under the covers with jeans on sounds approximately as advisable as razor blades in my urethra.
Cat arrived from his vacation home today and my apartment feels fully moved into. Cat is affectionate and only slightly clingy. I am worried that he is going to have to redevelop his eating habits. I can't leave cat food out all the time until I am positive I have eliminated all of the lingering cockroaches the previous tenant seemed to be breeding like livestock. I saw a tiny one today which means there are probable 23987498374874958347593875 more I didn't see. It was in the bathroom cabinet so I got some toothbrush cases for our toothbrushes-- I can't stand to think of a roach sitting next to my toothbrush. Note about cat: when did he start to sound exactly like Ray Romano?
I picked M up after her resting time, around 4 pm. She was gluing. She was making spiderwebs with the paste and sticking snowflake sequins on as spiders. We came home and I made dinner immediately, some turkey and cranberry and sweet potato thing in a saucepan, very quick, pretty lazy, moderately tasty. The cranberries tasted good but were too dried, maybe frozen next time? or I added them too late perhaps.
Tomorow, 20th Century canadian fiction and books and readers. I ran into Poindexter (also known as Eggbert) outside of Robarts. He's very charming and I feel as though his mother probably makes most of his clothing. I am going to guess he is a theology student.
I looked into the laundry room. Tomorrow, I do laundry. Honestly. M is having dinner with her dad so maybe I'll do it then. I am out of underwear. I hand washed some stuff but that's just useless. I don't know when we are going to get to the fish store for our fish, the fish tank has been set up since Sunday and still no fishes in it. Tomorrow is out unless I get them alone without Maggie. WI could keep her home from school on Wednesday. Maybe if we go to the fish store and the museum she will somehow manage not to fall behind from missing her crucial lesson on a letter and a colour she already knows.
I bought some horrible sweet frostingy "fruit dip" and M thinks it's crazy that anyone would fuck up a perfectly nice green apple with dipping sauce. "Sauce?" (long pause) "For an apple?" (long pause, incredulous smile) "Are you sure you don't mean applesauce? |
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| (no subject) |
[Sep. 24th, 2005|11:52 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  complacent | ] |
| [ | music |
| | traffic, sirens | ] |
M got up painfully early, she is still all jet lagged. We puttered around the house all morning. Schmiller called-- I can't remember the details (an effect of not listening). It must be exhausting to be so angry all the time.
The new apartment is spacious and bright, it makes for great lying-about mornings. We went and tried the japanese restaurant under us for lunch, M had yakitori and I had a teriyaki bento box. Decent sushi, tasty yakitori, average teriyaki and amazing tempura with lovely, buttery miso. I will go back just for the miso and one painfully delicious gyoza. M hogs the gyoza.
We hit the dollar store and got some great little magnets. I need to find some sort of knob or handle for both sides of both kitchen shutter doors. Those shutters are the most bizarre thing about this new place. I do like them, though.
We went and saw the Corpse Bride tonight. I enjoyed the piano scenes. M enjoyed all the scenes, also she enjoyed the popcorn and the cookies. She fell asleep in my lap on the subway home and I had to lug her and find my keys at the same time. Call me supergirl. No seriously, call me, supergirl.
I wonder if any neighbors are looking in my window with a telescope reading my journal. If they are into that habit, they already know that I drool all over when I sleep, all about my new socks, and whether or not i pick my nose while watching CSI reruns.
I am so backed up on photo printing that in order to get hard copies of the photos I have stored I will need a week off and a line of credit. I saw photo paper in the dollar store. Maybe it's time to fold and get a new printer. I still havent gotten prints from our trip this spring! horrors!
Her curls are tumbling out from under the covers, like a shining spill of honey. I washed her hair today, I don't think her dad washed it the whole time they were gone. Sometimes I just wish he'd commit a terrible yet victimless crime and go away to alcatraz. I suppose that's not kind to wish on a daughter. Still.
I haven't even purchased all of my goddamn books. I want to sit next to that 14 year old poindexter so I can copy off his notes because he looks like a homeschool kid and homeschool kids ALWAYS get good grades. |
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| TMI |
[Sep. 24th, 2005|02:59 am] |
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Irritable bowel? That's fine. I don't need to know about it in the first hour I have met you. |
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| moved in |
[Sep. 23rd, 2005|02:55 am] |
Finally. M is back home from England mostly intact. I missed her so badly I broke into a run periodically during the transit to pick her up. I could have eaten her sweet little face, her smile, her hair. Her hair is dry. She has a nasty bruise on the small of her back from some faraway playground accident I wasn't able to observe for myself. Did anyone wash her hair?
She's sound asleep, twitching and pale. The sole of her warm foot is on my calf. Oh and I moved in. What a disaster.
Actually, the move was pretty good. J and I rented a 16ft cube and moved it all in one trip. Once we finally, backbreakingly dragged the last piece of shitty ikea furniture into the place we dropped on the bed and slept until dark. Well mostly slept. Slept eventually.
When we woke up I flicked on the kitchen light and skitter skitter scurry I nearly had a heart attack. Cockroaches, the bane of the urbanite existence. I know it's unreasonable. I know it's more of a social stigma than anything else. At least I had a week before M got home.
Oddly, after a liberal dusting of boric acid and no mask, any red tattoo ink on me bubbled and itched. It was the strangest thing I've ever seen. Good thing I only have a small patch of red ink, isn't it?
So for a week I missed M so much it hurt. I battled cockroaches, I had many classes, I unpacked (kind of, keeping the roach issue in mind) and I had no phone, internet or television. I bought a lot of secondhand books. If I eliminated the internet I'd spend an awful lot of time in ABC Books. I can't think for th elife of me what I did with all my time before the kid wandered along.
I am so happy to have her home, here to touch and smell, I could just flatten my tentacles like an octavia butler ooloi. |
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| pashminas and pjs |
[Sep. 14th, 2005|08:12 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  melancholy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | dregs of Labyrinth from the bedroom | ] |
Tuesday I dropped M off a few minutes late (subway delay) and was horrified to discover that her class had already started bench time and M missed the first three pages of a story about a fish.
I had an english class at old vic at 10, ah how I love that building. The green spaces were all misty and dewy and cool still and even the ivy trembled with visions of academic prestige. We got a book list and pretty much were dismissed with that. Another mature student tried to play den mother and I was embarrassed for her until the professor arrived. she asked me my name and I stonewalled her like a huge asshole.
Then I explored the building a tiny bit, got lost in the stairwell, but what stunning stairways they were. Back through stone arches and past bushels more of ivy. M was on the playground and only thinly veiled her initial desire to tell me to piss off. We ate chicken souvlaki and she drew some amazing pictures and we took photos of ourselves. Back at the QCC we watched a mediocre jazz band (singer sweating, with mullet) rock out "suzie Q" and sweatstain their golf shirts.
It was hot hot. Too hot for September. My shirt ws soaked between my back and my backpack. I had a book history class in an hour, I wandered around and found the building then went back to VC to maybe pick up some things from my booklist but the line for the bookstore was snaking through the common room-- another time. I guess that leaves me doing it today. I spent two hours being dazzled by the young, bearded professor (I am sure there were dozens of panting 19 year olds in there) and his white teeth and passion for the codex. Another stunning building, but this one spoiled by heavy, dated renovation. I killed time after class buying socks and playmobil toys for M's trip.
Upon arriving back at school, I picked up M (she was playing dress-up)and we headed for the hills. She'll be gone nearly two weeks now. We went to the hospital to visit J and Mr Lois and then headed home. Burger King en route. I should be ashamed.
I let her stay up and then she fell asleep as I held her. I can't believe she is going. I can't believe how long she is going to be gone. She'll be home next friday, I'll have the weekend to snuggle her, then monday right back into the fray. Siiigh.
Fuck, I have to be ready to go in 30 minutes and I'm sweaty and in my underwear. |
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| baby's first day of school |
[Sep. 12th, 2005|06:05 pm] |
Not bad, not bad. I felt momentarily lightheaded as I sent M off into school and realized now I had to go play nice with all MY new little friends. I went to Over Easy and watched the film festival glitterati buzz all over themselves like bees with erections and cell phones.
We had breakfast (chatty, R rated, eggs florentine, bad coffee) and then went for a icecap before j walked me to my class. He's a peach. Stabs of excitement at the blatant ivy league feel. Stabs of feeling elderly when wading through the throngs of first years. Mostly excited.
I wandered the corridor of the convocation hall looking for a familiar face-- there weren't any that I could find. I finally joined the throng and at 12 the previous class began piling out. by 12:10 most of us were seated in our rickety wooden fold-outs facing the electronic screen pulled down in front of the organ pipes. The arms of the old chairs are positively gleaming with 200 years of students sweaty palms.
Note to self: remember to find that streaming webcam of that prof's office. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 27th, 2004|01:18 am] |
What a swell, thoughtful birthday basket! Flowers, parmegiano reggiano, pestos, mustards, a magazine script and a battery operate "L'il Bessie" barking dog. Speaking of cheese, now here (http://www.taunton.com/finecooking/pages/c00035.asp) is an individual who is aroused in the cheese store. I love cheese. I had lobster tonight, I should have gotten chicken. I just don't appreciate lobster I guess. My skirt over a subway vent today actually Marilyn Monroed a passing father figure. What a ridiculous thing, totally film like and only half welcomed for once, nasty little thing that I am.
It's late, I'm restless, my parents are coming this weekend. I guess I'll finally get my knee looked at tomorrow, two weeks after beginning the hobble. I even managed in heels tonight. I tried all week to find a new GP uptown, it's a pain in the arse to go downtown to my old doc, but nobody is taking new patients. It's been ages since I've been.
I need new glasses. My glasses actually fell off today while trying on shoes.
What a strange weather night-- hot and dense and muggy. The whole summer has been so wet and cool. I really dig a good hot sweaty night sometimes, and tonight was one of them. Yonge Street looks so trashy and lovely when it's muggy and wet, with all the XXX neon and electronic fencing stores reflecting in the air and in the puddles on the sidewalk. Nothing pretties up the panhandlers like a bit of scottish rain, too.
Still no fall schedule. Still no divorce papers. Waiting waiting waiting. I did get a cheque from Natalie for that short story, so I can add that to my clips file for real this time. |
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| christ |
[Aug. 25th, 2004|03:15 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  quixotic | ] |
Josh had some PC points today, we gorged on sushi and fancy dessert before (and after) we gorged on sex. I wonder what state laws we broke this evening. I'm glad I don't live where something deliciously hot engorged sweaty animalistic throbbing dirty is illegal.
I worry about his sense of direction yet I don't have a sense of direction myself. He worries about Schmiller. I didn't really realize that. Of course he does.
Sometimes I am physically struck by how much of a little, independant, brilliant person M has become overnight. She's spreadeagled, limp on the bed with HGTV flickering over her. I think I'll go smell her and be impressed and delighted.
Parents this weekend. Brother the weekend after that. I think it's my birthday Thursday. I still don't know what my schedule is for fall. I need a schedule, a final divorce, a new family doctor and oh, what the hell, a godmother. |
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| ping |
[Aug. 11th, 2004|01:59 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | amused | ] |
It was raining and the whole city smelled like worms.
He sat out in the wet on a picnic table in Dufferin Grove, watching traffic and feeling anguished and sorry for himself. He thought about throwing all her things over the balcony. Not that she'd left much to throw, that is. Throwing hairpins and striped socks and a Margaret Atwood paperback over the balcony seemed ridiculous. She had left a t-shirt with her fruity fragrance still clinging to it and he had already lit that ablaze in an embarassing display of barbecue hysterics.
Of course sitting on a mossy picnic table staring at an empty basketball court in the rain didn't seem ridiculous. The rain was a soft heavy drizzle, the kind that you don't even notice until you are already wet. Tires hissed down Dufferin Street and the bus groaned as it pulled away from the stop, heavy with passengers who were heavy with Walmart bags and strollers.
She hadn't even called once she left. He hadn't seen it coming. He was crazy, crazy about her. He remembered how the streetlight would shine blue through the curtains on her hair when she was setting the alarm clock in the dark. He remembered how her upper lip would form a glossy mustache of sweat when she would let him leave the lights on. He remembered how her lips would get so dry in the winter they would crack and she often would grin suddenly and a tiny drop of blood would pool. His stomach growled.
Afernoon ticked on and self pity and worms will only pass so much time. His knee cracked as he stood and stretched. He crossed the street to the grocer and stood at the local ads for movers, apartments and dog walkers in the entrance. It was muggy inside. Wet floors reflected frantic sale ads and fluorescent light. Someone's baby was squalling.
As he walked past the carrots and celery, a sweet smell rose up in front of him. A pyramid of peaches. They sat and ripened before his nose and he stood and stared blankly. His guts ached as he remembered smoothing that fragrant peach oil on her back after a shower. Only $1.88 a pound, the sign shreiked.
He carefully chose a peach from the pink and gold stack. Fruit in palm he walked to the checkout. He wrapped the peach in a crumpled napkin and put it in his jacket pocket. The park was in front of him as he left the store, dark trees looming heavily over the shiny street.
He made his way back to the same spot. He placed the peach on the table. An orangish streetlight flickered on nearby. He stared at the peach. Drizzle dampened the napkin, weighing it down. As it got wetter, the paper slid down and the top half of the peach emerged. Drops began collecting on the soft fuzz of the surface, tiny reflecting beads of rain.
He cupped the fruit in his hand and closed his eyes. It was just the size and shape of her bare shoulder. Soft, miniscule hairs met his cheek. He could place it on the tabletop and feel her right there with him as he warmed the peach with his palm. He knew if he opened his eyes her dark hair, herhigh cheekbones, her bare feet would be on the bench with him.
Rain dripped down his collar. He opened his eyes and straightened up. He lifted the peach to his mouth. He touched it with his lips. He breathed in the heavy, ripe smell. His tongue gently met the skin.
Suddenly, his lips drew back and bared his teeth. Opening wide, he took an enourmous mouthful. He tore sharply through the soft skin, deep to the pit. He tore off bite after bite and greedily swallowed the half chewed flesh. Juice ran down his chin, onto his shirt. Animalistic grunts and slurps caused a woman behind him to quicken her step as she passed.
Within moments nothing but the pit remained, with trailing strings clinging to his fingers. The pit dropped down onto the wet grass and he wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he walked away.
He started to whistle. |
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| parvowhat? |
[Jun. 18th, 2004|05:55 am] |
| [ | mood |
| |  pensive | ] |
M has a funny rash. It started about a week after her belated birthday trip to the zoo, or about ten days ago.
It is on her palms and feet. Red, raised, itchy bumps, and then peeling. Then more bumps. I took her to the pediatrician. His verdict-- it's viral, but nothing he's familiar with, so he referred us to a dermatologist.
The dermatologist today said it was either strep or viral, and ran a strep test, which was negative. That leaves a virus. After a few phone calls and wondrous technology of emailed photographs and conferring with collegues, she has tentatively dianosed a funny parvovirus-- like what causes fifth's disease. Maggie doesn't have slapped-cheek syndrome but she does have a funny viral rash. I guess they know what they are talking about.
Maybe I can get a medical degree for doctoring via google. You think? |
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| quagmire, rabbit hole, republican, the brown guys |
[Jun. 18th, 2004|05:39 am] |
these days when I visit my parents I have a self-loathing need to talk politics and current events with my very conservative father, especially since right now he is on the fence regarding who to vote for. My dad really hates democrats but doesn't like what Bush is doing WRT things like the patriot act, etc
anyway
My dad served in vietnam and I asked him what similarities he saw between Iraq and Vietnam-- the first thing he said that sending young kids who didn't expect to see combat over to terrible war zones is always going to result in the enemy being dehumanized, raped, beaten, and murdered in captivity. He says that while it isn't *right* it is human nature and to expect ill trained 19 year olds to be able not to blame the proberbial gooks is asking too much of the typical military grunt. He sees a visible ethnicity/racial gap as something that will naturally enable Johnny Whiteboy to further place the Iraqis below himself. I thought the US miliary was getting more minoritized all the time?
He also said the majority of real young kids in the military are, and I quote, "mental midgets" who are pretty incapable of making independant decisions responsibly. I really get the feeling that my dad does not see Abu Ghraib as a shocking thing, and I get the feeling that he thinks it surprising that anyone does. Now, I think my dad has pretty high expectations of people to live in a biblical, moral manner and this has surprised me. Not that he thinks it's ok by any means-- he just thinks it's human nature. Or course, he also thinks gay people should be happy to be allowed civil unions and that canadians can't possibly be getting adequate health care, in spite of the high standards of living those canuckistanis have.
I wonder if I can talk Dad into getting his vietnam pictures out this trip?
M's little pal from Chicago is coming out to stay this weekend. Uncle and Auntie flew back to Denver today, but I think we'll see them in August.
Monday sees me here for another week. Upon returning home I'll have preteen cousins visiting and I'll have racked up a totally celibate month. Sigh. Maybe I'll spring for a hotel room when the girls leave and we can reenact a prom night role play or something. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 23rd, 2004|03:58 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | sexy | ] |
| [ | music |
| | silence | ] |
Wugh. It's late and boring and my body is irritating and distracting today. I can't get comfortable enough to sleep. I have a sweaty little kid putting her feet in my face. I let her watch a movie that seems to be too stimulating and now she is talking in her sleep about protoplasmic heads. I have breast pain and I can't quit groping myself looking for a lump or, frankly, anything. You know what the pain is? Voodoo. Someone is stabbing my wax doll again. I feel hollow but not hungry. My leg muscles are tight and I keep rubbing them. If I were behind myself in a checkout lane, I'd eye my own ass with appetite.
I found a discarded cat whisker on the living room floor today. It looked so big and substantial, lying in a little clean arc on the floor. I picked it up and set it on my desk shelf where it will eventually get misplaced, but it's nice to take a moment and appreciate anatomy occasionally.
Last night I dreamt that the crew went on a trip together to Budapest, and leslie killed someone and kept her in her suitcase and none of use figured it out for over a day. Strangely, when I woke up I was thinking about how nice it would be to go to budapest, this time in the fall, and not about yp's carcass folded up into a samsonite coffin.
I want the spring to arrive already. I need to get working on my yard. I have sketches and convicted criminal Martha Stewart's march issue. I have soil pods and seeds. I have cedar posts. I have big plans. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 22nd, 2004|06:10 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | chipper | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Cornershop | ] |
M has created a cave dwelling behind the sofa. She has a little pillow to sit on and a toy barn for the scooby toys to take shelter in. I can't decide if, in her play, she is actually there as an equal or if she is simply acting the parts of the scooby toys. Listening to her imaginative play is as thrilling as ever.
Her dad (Schmiller) called me, concerned, because she said "I love money!" during her visit last weekend. However, she also loves me, her toy bunny, the flowered panties I gave her, yellow crayons, fish at the pet store, apples, scooby doo, brushing her teeth, and going to the drugstore. When further questioned, he also mentioned that he had just gotten her a new set of toy money for her cash register. Hmmmmmm. By hmmmmm I mean duh. By duh I mean "you're lucky I haven't hired a hit man."
So a friend of mine noticed a pile of books set out for the trash, and among them was "And God Said, Let There be Sex!" I scratch my head a bit as to why this book was excitedly handed to me. What about that title reminded him of me? I put it in the bathroom. I can't wait for a guest to come and comment on my bathroom reading.
Marketing girls get together on Thursday. Sarah wants to go to a pub. Come to think of it, Sarah always wants to go to a pub. Charlie wants to go to somewhere cheap. Erin wants to go where everyone else wants to go. I browsed toronto.com to find a pub that is central and had an online food menu to make sure it was cheap. The four of us are very predictable, heh.
Sarah will be wearing that pink boatneck sweater, or something like it. Erin will look super sharp and businessy. Charlie will either be super slum casual or vampy rocker. She seems to have no middle ground. I don't think we've ever all eaten together. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 19th, 2004|06:09 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| | complacent | ] |
| [ | music |
| | David Bowie, Suffragette City | ] |
M and I took a stroll past the blingy toy store today, and of course we went in to ogle all the overpriced toys I scoff at but know I will buy for her birthday. We got a package of the touchable bubbles, and then we stood outside and blew them everywhere to the confusion of people walking past. Not that we blew them on anyone, just that they stuck to the sidewalk and sides of buildings so they looked like transparent scarabs or something in the sun. So any dour commuter walking down the street arrives to a section of sidewalk with quivering, sparkling blobs.
***
I dreamt last night that I was having an abdominal ultrasound, and it was in colour-- like a camera. My ovaries were huge and dark and withered. That was worse than the rotting teeth dreams. |
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| about this mood thing. |
[Mar. 18th, 2004|01:02 am] |
why did a sad, bleak little frowny face show up next to 'restless' anyway? I didn't choose a sad face.
I feel restless like
oh dear I can't wait to go out in the spring sunshine
or
wouldn't it be great to be in an airport terminal with a really good book and a bunch of snacks in my backpack waiting to go see someone I like and miss and haven't seen in a long time
or
I drank too much coffee too late today but at least the TV looks good tonight
restless is not bad. I reject the default frown next to restless. |
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| gratuitous happiness |
[Mar. 18th, 2004|12:54 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | restless | ] |
So here it is the middle of March. I forget every fall how long winter is, and I get all excited for the snow to come. Then for the duration of February and March I do nothing but bitch about the weather. My bitching even calls ahead! I told Josh last night "I will come out and meet you to watch Starsky and Hutch-- but be prepared for me to bitch about the weather. If you are not prepared for me to bitch I am not coming."
*** |
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glendower's journal