something to think about

A comment on someone else's blog caught my eye today as I checked out my few faves. (It's a great way to start the day, this- switch on the computer and read blogs with a mug of hothot tea clenched in fist.) A blogger was commenting on what a terrible mood she'd wakened in, and how heavy her heart was, which is sad, because she seems like a great person and those black moods can be awful, whatever the cause. But someone had commented on this entry: "Thanks to Ambien, I no longer have nights like this..."
And I thought: I am so lucky. Because even though I can write every once in a while about feeling doubt, or pain, or even rage on occasion, anyone who reads this blog can see that I am basically a very happy, well-balanced person with a built-in optimistic nature. Because the only mood-altering drugs I have ever taken were the illegal, fun ones. Because even in the harder times I can usually see that cliched light at the tunnel's end.
I have huge problems with the amount of drugs that are peddled to us by pharmaceutical companies who convince us that we NEED them to live normal, "healthy" lives. Especially anti-depression drugs. But I have never known that total blackness of the spirit that can totally swamp a person so that maybe drugs are the only way away from sure suicide. And I pray to whatever gods there are that I will never have to know.

because I am seldom houseproud...

...but I love, love, LOVE our new bookshelves! J bought them last night and by the time I got home from rehearsal was already knee-deep in cardboard, assembling them. I filled them with books and was done around 1am. Finally books can be seen in all their glory at our apartment!
I grew up in a household where books were always proudly displayed, never hidden away because they were "messy" or "didn't match the furniture" or other such twaddle. Over the last 10 years or so I've had an ongoing argument with J about the amount of room books take up in our place, which is too small for clutter. But I always held firm: no books of mine were ever going to live in a storage locker; books are to be enjoyed and always accessible, not squirrelled away. However, we never had enough shelving to make this look good: the books were all here but they were stuffed into such small shelves that they looked horrible and weren't used as often as they should have been. Now, they have pride of place at last. My fiction and music books rest comfortably near J's books on Zen, film-making, symbolism, and what I call the "Manly Arts" section: knifemaking, model shipbuilding, wilderness survival techniques and the like.
I don't consider myself that well-read, even after years of working at bookstores: I love fiction, travel writing, and a few other genres, but I don't range that widely, and I have a terrible habit of reading the same "comfort books" over and over (and over) again instead of trying something new. J, although he doesn't read much, reads very smart stuff when he does. But there is a quote from "To Kill a Mockingbird" that I've always loved: when Scout is having trouble at school because she is already a voracious reader, she says that she's never thought about whether or not she loved to read because: "One does not love breathing."
That's exactly how I feel.

The Patch

So tired. Can't write in complete sentences tonight. Played at Ana Bon-Bon's cd release party last night with the Reptiles, got home by one, up by 7:30 AM!!! At the Pumpkin Patch by 8:30- played "You Are My Sunshine", "Oh Susanah" et al until 3pm, got home and got sucked into cleaning the apartment with J. Finally decided to lie down and read when J went out to a movie and I could hardly stand up due to fatigue. Best part of the day? Rev calling and telling me that the Patch is cancelled tomorrow due to heavy rain warnings. "You're ok with that? Not too disappointed?" she asked without a trace of irony and it was all I could do not to howl with laughter. Rev is a wonderful organizer who co-ordinates the Pumpkin Patch every year, finds stellar musicians, books the bands, etc, but she takes it all a leeetle too seriously. I had to laugh the first time I went out with a wagon today- we're supposed to say this shtick about this giant plastic pumpkin they have in a field called Percy that you pass in the wagons on the way out to the field. You're supposed to say something like: "...and if you look over there, you'll see Percy the Pumpkin. Percy is the oldest, biggest pumpkin in the patch and he loves this song..." and then you sing "You Are My Sunshine". Well, the weather this year had not been good to Percy and he looked as if he had leprosy as all his orange paint is peeling off. What with that and the fact that his grinning mouth is painted black with one tooth, Percy looked a lot like some disreputable wino you'd have arrested if he lurched anywhere near your kids. Oh, and it rained. All day. Ah, the patch! It takes a special kind of person to love it, I think I've mentioned that before.
On the (very) plus side, I now have a day off tomorrow! Jon & I are having his folks and my mom over for Thanksgiving dinner and I can get some homework done before they arrive. And our apartment looks fab, thanks to all the cleaning that J's been doing. I must say, now that he's finished that BCSA video, the man has been a star in the domestic department...

Rage

It came from nowhere this afternoon, hot & choking. I'd had a good long sleep, was looking forward to my last day off in a while. Decided to go to VCC to get my student ID card. Looked around the apartment for my registration info & receipts...nothing. Started tearing the place apart, searching through stacks of papers, recycling, my files, everything...they were nowhere to be found. That's when the rage came, out of all proportion to the event- rage at myself for being untidy, rage at our place for being messy, rage (oh so much rage) at J, who was glued to his laptop and barely noticed my meltdown. I retreated to our bedroom and sobbed. Applied eyedrops and kept searching, even though I knew it'd be no problem to walk over to school get a duplicate from the registrar. J realised-finally-that something was up and began to help. But it was too little, too late. I knew I had to leave, and fast, before bile began to spill from my mouth.
Now I feel hollowed-out and teary, tired and toxic. The rage has abated but it leaves me shaken- it wasn't a good scorching anger that cleared the air but a foul wind that blew in for no good reason, leaving me wondering why. I feel pretty healthy, my job isn't too stressful, I've adjusted to school and work, J & I have been getting along fine...
I can't look at it and say I was mad at anything or anyone specific, that's the problem. Maybe I'm a bit more stressed about money and work than I've been letting myself feel and it had to spill out somehow. I just don't know.

Babysitting lessons

I had another day of childcare with my buddy Sebastien yesterday. It was so crappy outdoors, we ended up staying in all day, but we found lots of things to do. There was: splashing in the sink, piggyback rides, throwing a big blue ball and laughing hysterically when Alison pretended to fall over while catching it, and playing with Mom's tape measure (not such a success- I broke it). And, last but far from least, blowing bubbles on the balcony. (see above picture) This kid is nearly two, and his parents and babysitters have not exposed him to TV yet, which I think is awesome. He's trusting, funny, active, daring, affectionate, and learning so fast! We chatter in Franglais together because his mom is bilingual- it's very good for my vocab! I am also learning tons about toddler-wrangling, because he can be stubborn. He was very pissy when he woke up from his nap because he wasn't expecting me to be there- he was so outraged that it was funny (although not to him!). It was as if we'd played the worst trick in the world on him: "I went to sleep and Mom was here and I wake up and you're here? What the hell?" So far I find that it works to give him a big hug, let him know he's loved, and then ignore the sulks and redirect his behavior with distractions. This could potentially be useful in stage management as well- hmmm!

suckage.

As some of you know, I am strangely attracted to Mama-blogs. Not in a creepy, lock-her-up kind of way, I'm just compelled to read them right now because there's this ongoing should-I, shouldn't-I dialogue in my head right now re. children.
Anyway, through these blogs I've learned about the whole Facebook controversy regarding pictures of breastfeeding and I have to say, I am firmly on these moms' sides! We can show all the violence in the world, but the sight of a mom's boob and wow, apparently some people get all weird.
So in honour of this cause I have added this Facebook Sucks button to the right. I am not totally ready to give up Crackbook itself, although I'm tempted because it's mostly so colossally silly and a big waste of time. Baby steps, people, baby steps.

A rainy-day miscellany

Perfume. The only one I like to smell on my body is Chanel No.5. I know, champagne tastes... I liberated a bottle of the eau de toilette from my mother's bathroom years ago (sorry, Mom) and just recently I've begun using it again. Its sophisticated, elusive scent makes me feel more grown up. I wonder how much of loving it comes from the fact that I smelled it on my mom as a child and loved it then...
Soprano. When I was a kid I always sang alto in the choir because I could learn the harmony parts. When they finally let me be a soprano I was so happy- at last, the high notes! In high school, Toni and I would sing along to whatever was on the radio as we drove along in her car. Her foot as often as not propped on the dash as she drove. Singing the melody line was not cool- you had to find an alternate part, always. From such silly games comes a remarkably good ear for harmonies that has stood me in very good stead.
Games. I've never used a vibrator, can you believe it? J & I keep meaning to buy one, but then we forget. I've also never had a three-way, made out with a girl, or had someone snarl "you know you want it, Baby" while dripping candle wax on my nipples. But I'm only 33, so this could all change. I have held on to the same great guy for 10 years though, and it wasn't just due to my sparkling wit, let me tell ya.
My parents never beat me, so what can I write songs about? I had a disgustingly happy childhood in North Vancouver & Etobicoke. I love my mom, (who is truly my best friend other than J), my dad, and my younger brother. I am also very fond of my stepmom and my future sister-in-law. All the crazy people in my family (and there are a few) are overseas, in England. We are ridiculously healthy, except for my stepmom, but she is determined to beat her cancer and we are trying so hard to believe she can. The men in my life before J weren't good matches for me, but they were all pretty nice. This has made me confident, optimistic and friendly, but left me with very little fodder for angst-y songs.
Greasepaint & Footlights. We had tickets to Young People's Theatre in Toronto when I was a kid. I was always so jealous of the actors- I wanted to be up there onstage too. I was (in)famous in my neighbourhood for staging a full-length lip-synch version of "Cats" with all my little friends, which our parents had to watch all the way through. I know exactly why I love playing music, but my love for theatre is harder to analyze, so I don't. I just know that being part of a production makes me feel wonderful.
Don't take me to Playland. I have a terrible intolerance to being whirled, dropped, flipped, swooped or spun. Amusement park rides are strictly off-limits. Doesn't matter if it's the Polar Express, the Rainbow, or just the Swings- I will feel nauseous for at least an hour after I ride and yes, I will barf on you.
Time's up. Here are the ways I think I might die: in a car crash, trapped inside a chunk of twisted metal as the flames lick closer. I don't drive, so I am a nervy passenger because I don't feel in control. Or... I kiss J goodnight and go sleep on the couch because I have a cold and I'm snoring. Suddenly I awake to a thunderous roar. Is it a freight train? No, the whole apartment's shakingshakingshaking, the whole world's rocking and as I run to find my love, the whole bedroom breaks free from the building and slithers down the Cut onto the train tracks in a flat heap, squashing me under tons of debris. Hey, I live in a major earthquake zone- it could happen at any time.
Just say no. It was easier for me to quit smoking and weed than to give up sugar. I've been smoke-free for over a year, haven't done weed for months. But I'm going to get up from this computer and bake some chocolate chip cookies right now.