oh this one's exciting. better read this one.

oh yes, long lag, bad me.

worked, went out for the long weekend, met the queen's large irish family, worked through some things that don't matter anymore, failed on a set of responsibilities i had to an event. (much to the surprise of my ego, the event went off rather well anyway. smaller than last year, but also tighter and more fun.)

it was a long week. the week before that one was busy. a busy week followed by a long week sucks ass. so now we're all caught up. i haven't even journalled. the closest i come is staring sideways at the little book, sending it suspicious glances.

today was good. today i slept in, after 'thonning for hours last night. slept in the queen's arms and woke happy. he mentioned this. then when a shadow fell across my face, he questioned the source, and as usual, it was something i remembered needed doing. so i did it, which is a trend i hope to be able to keep going. the alternative is a life of backlogged tasks, which i swear is more deadly than a teenage mugger.

i wish that when i didn't blog, it was because i was doing all kinds of cross-country touring, or climbing mountains. but the best i can manage is hiking around beaver dams for an hour before driving back to the city to make my work shift. which isn't intentional slowness, it's lack of time. at least i am looking forward to the blues musician at the commercial this week. and going to see caribou.

maybe more exciting things do happen in my life, and i just forget them because i only blog every two weeks. who knows.

simply rich.

another day off. i spot a trend.

but today i am enjoying myself more than i did on the last day off. and it's a funny thing, enjoying oneself. at least, it is for me. the experience is one that has been hammered into as one of value. you WANT to be happy; you better be happy. so i am happy. sure i am.

and who the fuck knows, and why am i focused on it, like the next badge in life scouts; a sun with a smiley-face. even those to whom i am accustomed to sharing with honestly have stated they were surprised to learn i have spent more of my time unhappy than happy. but why is that a surprise? it's not so much a pleasing world when you look at the people (and i do). (i can't help it; i live in a city, and the people are what's on display.)

in any case, i actually have felt happy in the last year or so. a friend of mine, known for his reluctant stoicism (he shoulders a burden proudly, might i add, in apparent paradox to the reluctance of his stoicism) checked in on me when i was expressing initial happiness (sometime last winter). he had concern i would topple; manic is followed by a crash, he warned.

yes yes. i grew up with that. truly, i congratulate him, since that's the role i play with many - check-ins where no one else would check in, seeing past the sugar into the cavity. and yes, up is conveniently paired with its less exotic sibling, down. down and i go far enough back that i cannot snub him at parties, and though i probably do (drink another cider!), he'll catch up with me on the way home.

but anyway, this post was ostensibly about the difference between an enjoyed day off; today, and a day off that got moped through; previous entry (all in denial then, of course. you'll have to go back and read between the lines).

today i woke up to the queen, several times. wandering home, i had coffee with a friend of mine who just got onto the heli-tack team, and whose summer job is fly around in choppers and protect a park on the edge of the rockies from uncontrolled fire, pine beetles and other out-of-control destruction. while we drank coffee and ate strawberries, he told me about training camp, and the different structures of teams that forest-fire-fighters have.

after he took off i took care of odd household tasks, then sewed a matching bikini top and skirt out of an old sundress whose fit had gone all funny. i am quite pleased with the result and wore it in the backyard, sunning and doing lazy situps (nothing like a bikini top to get me in the mood for situps; i have not been very devoted. clearly, this is a lack of bikini tops). this prompted a long-needed fit of body-care and culminated in a gorgeous blue dress and cowboy boots (my pride and joy, given to me by my dad when i was fifteen) and a trip out for mushrooms and cider. now i am making dinner (spicy tomato rice dish) for the queen and i, and later, we'll go to see the tallest man on earth.

what's the difference between today and that other day? even if i knew, i couldn't order any, so why bother?

simple

day off. rejoice. do whatever i want:

- sleep in
- start reading margaret atwood's new novel, the year of the flood.
- find forty dollars in my purse which hadn't been there before. think about cream, strawberries, and a bottle of wine. (i just used a comma in the style of university papers; counter to the style of journalism. how exciting!!!! and probably inappropriately formal for a blog!)
- listen to manu dibango
- pick up some groceries, noting to myself that 'tis the season again for running into people i know while walking. three in a twenty minute walk, not counting my favourite low-income paper-seller victor. (he only doesn't count because he's the rain-or-shine type.)
- find a note from the queen - a letter really - and rejoice over it, curling up on my mattress to treasure his sweet words. mmmmm. tasty.
- visit the gnomes, who were making soup
- welcome the queen home; make a great supper of salad, curry and vermicelli noodles
- have a fire in the backyard of the gnome home to welcome all the random folks who come by (including a friend who's been in new york for the last three years)
- drink some wine with friends
- go to bed
- finish this post the next day

from the royal desk

i'm at the queen's. sitting at his desk, typing on his apple, with his cat tucked behind me on the chair. i feel restless. a bit hungover still. very drunk at the suburbs last night, and later in the queen's chariot, all a mess about rape.

sometimes i get really drunk and cry really hard about something over which i have no control. some region of my unconscious mind comes up with one of the 'problems' and i let out some of the angst and tension that comes from my experiences, personal observation and/or media intake. today's show is brought to you by rape! sigh.

we didn't invite it to be a sponsor, it just showed up and started blundering about.

so after we left the show (the openers reminded me of reverend horton heat; rockabillyish. but with more metal.), i cried. i cried on the trip home, i cried in my house, in bed quietly, long after even the spiders were sleeping. this morning at work my eyes were swollen (other parts of my body were equally forthcoming with their feedback, yes).

yeah, i'm not a rape fan. but then, i find it a necessary part of a satisfying equation that the fruits i enjoy were given to me - even if i pay for them, they need to be given or i'd rather go without. in the same vein, i'm not a patron of slavery. okay, in truth, i am sure i have purchased slave labour items in my lifetime. this is where locally made goods come in; i actually do spend a fair chunk of my modest wage buying local food, clothes, cat food, chocolate and coffee are fairly traded. how the hell am i supposed to feel about myself if i purchase slave-made goods? like i'm a smart shopper? like i have an eye for a deal? what kind of twisted bullshit is that?

fascinating digression into a different fury. back to the subjugation and violation of another person's body by force. i get angry, but last night it was more the sorrow. i recall the queen being a reassuring voice. eventually, late into the night, i decided that at least one thing i could "do about it" was to celebrate and appreciate the people i know who respect consent. no, it's not tattooing rapists, but sadly, that's not my style. what is my style is positive feedback and making it cool to be on team we.

midnight grease

raining tonight. worked the night shift at the bookstore, and melancholy was definitely grabby tonight. listening to this song by peter bjorn and john, illicit texts of longing to the queen. he responded in kind, having watched the time traveler's wife and the road tonight, a mellow movie evening after his six-am-start workday. by the time i read his return text, i was listening to blue valentines. god, the blues.

i find hope kind of melancholy. i suppose i could make all kinds of fatalist statements regarding that, but really, i think the 'reason' is probably body-based. or changes every time i look at it. and i guess i need to group the blues right in with hope and all other emotions as melancholy (kind of). because they're all so transient. and in case anyone wonders if i've "lost my will to live" (without tone, this epiphany might sound alarming) i am more kind of relieved to let go of yet another shard of drama. "oh, that wasn't actually terribly important? it wasn't an epic moment sponsored by (insert preferable source of meaning or order in your life)? oh, okay. i'm fine with that."

i planned to vacuum when i came home, and then go join the queen three doors down. but i find myself desiring a glass of wine and either the year of the flood or tipping the velvet, i'm not sure yet.

i have decided to woo my new roommate with household dynamics. if i cook big enough meals, i can do some serious gnomal wooing. curries can woo crowds. consider adding okra.

time passes. mixed reactions.

wow, it is may. or so they say. i drink some coffee, miss a wedding. the good witch comes home tomorrow, so i clean the bathroom and sweep the floor, gathering my things from around the house; back to two rooms i go. the bedroom is lovely, but it's the back room with the staircase down to the backyard i love the most. spontaneous german typewriters; who wouldn't love that?

i wonder how the good witch and i will get along, living in the same house. i hope we find a respectful rhythm. previously, it seemed nice but odd. nice because we have harmony and mutual likes, odd because i hadn't been expecting to live here as a roommate, only to housesit. the good witch has been roommateless for some time, and appreciates her space. but she mentioned that she liked the freshness i brought in. so maybe this can work.

i long to get some wool and learn how to crochet. my sweet friend in new orleans sent me a crocheted little hen (at least it looks like a hen to me; belated easter, maybe?) and it looks like fun. plus it will encourage me to someday spin my own wool, like another sweet friend in ontario, previously of new brunswick, does. she has a wheel, she spins wool. then she knits things. i want those kinds of skills.

am i getting old? no doubt! but who doesn't, except for the dead? actually, the dead age. it's called fading. last night i missed my dad.

i would like to keep serving my dream as i age. this dream of living kindly, quietly, musically, with my love. sitting. having babies, goats. making things, making do.

and maybe a room with white furniture when i am "very old"; whence i can emerge outside and sit with the young ones. be their grandma. i will be a wonderful grandma.