mundane details

The reading last night at Raw Sugar was so much fucking fun. There were a lot of great people there who stayed through the stickiness that develops when you put 20 or 25 bodies in a small space on a muggy July night. Colin read some of my favourite poems of his, Jennifer read a story that was like us talking. Only neither of us has a beehive. I cut my reading in half, since it was getting late and I was feeling, shall we say, schvitzy.

If you're sad you missed the launch of my new zine, it'll show up at Venus Envy in the next couple of days, and you can get one for yourself with a donation to the Venus Envy Bursary Fund.

People tossed a whack of money in the bowl for the readers, which was so kind. And even better, they tossed a whack more into the VEBF donation bowl. We made almost $100 for the fund. I was impressed.

August is a damn busy month.

On the 22nd I'm doing a burlesque performance at The Great Indiscretion, for which I will spend the next two days practicing in the living room, under the ceiling fan and with the blinds closed, until I can get off book and figure out the best way to wiggle out of my dress in about 3.5 minutes.

Tickets are, uh, available at Venus Envy.

It's been a busy couple of days, with lots of beer drinking and late hot nights. But I was smart enough to take today and yesterday off, so they've been languorous late morning breakfasts over fried potatoes and laughing days. Maybe not getting the errands done I'd had planned, but these days, I'm pretty good with plans changing. For me, at any rate.

You know, that mindfulness thing I did back in the spring was great. I might do it again next year even. Since it finished I'm just feeling so much more relaxed about stuff in general. Don't get me wrong, I still get wound up over shit, and the likelihood of me ever getting rid of my neuroses are pretty slim.

But then who wants to lose their neuroses completely?

I had one of those days today where the shit got done.

I emailed people about please I have been asking you for a year to change my address.

I called people about where did our initial notice go, if this is our reminder notice, and why do we have to pay $45 because the mail carrier didn't bring us the first two.*

I emailed people about please don't send me more junk mail.

I found the Q&A Q to tell our mail carrier see this no flyers sign, no really, it means NO FLYERS.

After that, I scrubbed down the fan I bought for $10 in Kanata. Which, sadly, will not go in my now lightless bedroom, because it is a bit yellowy and looks no good. But it will go in Mac's "Also Currently Lightless" Room, so I did not drive to Kanata for no good reason.

And that's good, because that would have been bad.

*Because they said so.

To continue with the "bad week for animals" theme we've got going on over on Some Street, I present to you my fish tank.

You may not be able to tell it's a fish tank, but I promise you, there is a 30-gallon fish tank under that white black-out material, a 30-gallon fish tank in which various forms of algae are dying a slow death, seeing as how they are being starved of light.

David Scrimshaw, you should know that the material is clipped together in the back with binder clips.

The hope is that when I remove the cover after 7 days, all of the algae will be dead. The plants might be too, but they're not very nice plants right now, seeing as how they are mostly dying under algae and I need to get some new ones - along with more substrate and fertilizer - to make the tank nicer.

Don't worry about the fish though. They probably don't love the dark and the no-food, but it doesn't seem to hurt them any.

I have no graceful segue.

You know what I hate? That's right, Pilates. Five classes in, and it is just not for me. It makes me feel bad about my body, bad bad terrible bad. And it feels ridiculous. I don't know why it feels more ridiculous than yoga, since it's quite similar in many ways. But there you go.

I get frustrated with my body sometimes in yoga, like how did I get cursed with these hamstrings, and why is it so easy for that person to sit on the floor with their legs spread and bend over. But even through those moments, or classes, it still feels like I'm learning something, like I might be inflexible and look ridiculous, but like I am getting better - at focussing my gaze, at learning how my muscles work, at learning how to test my limits without overstepping them, at forgiving myself when I fuck up. I don't, however, ever remember a time when I spent most of a class thinking "This is stupid."

Hoo. Apparently I was a little blocked about that.

The rest of the day was quite nice. Walked Shelley to work, got all my grocery shopping done, worked out in the garage while Steve hit the heavy bag. This all took much longer than I expected it to, which meant I was fairly running to get to Harold's launch on time.

The launch was short, but much fun. Harold picked good excerpts to read, though they could have been longer, I got to chat with him a wee bit, got to chat with Ian Roy a bit longer, and Brendan too, about the writing mentorship program he's started doing and how everyone in it complains about writer's block.

Good to know I'm not the only one putting it out there.

Over dinner, at Ann's place around the corner, lemongrass beef and some kind of delicious shrimp, I read the first third of Harold's book. He mentions places I grew up in or around. I love that. The places I grew up in and around rarely make it into books.

Now I'm home, macaroons setting in the fridge, an hour or two more of my evening in front of me. Writing? Maybe. Fucking around on the internet? Most probably.

All in all, a pretty regular winter Saturday night here in the Front House. M-C is in bed, probably already asleep, and I am forgoing both of the two musicky things I could be doing right now in favour of sitting on my couch with a finger of Laphroig and typing away.

Steve might call to do something later, but I most definitely might already be asleep.

I got home last night from the Talented Tongues reading about 11 pm. Much later than I thought I would. Earlier in the day, I hadn't wanted to go. I was going by myself, it was in a venue over the bridge, my leg was killing me, I'd had a busy and mostly frustrating day.

Freya woke me up yesterday at a more reasonable hour - 7:30 am - without having woken me through the night. For all of you with children who don't sleep through the night, my hat is off. It's exhausting.

At any rate, there I was, fed and watered by 8:30. Two hours to kill before leaving for yoga at 10:30.

Turns out that neither the Herb or the Hartman's opens till 10 on Sunday, so if you try to go grocery shopping at 9 am, you can buy your Bridgehead coffee beans, but nought else.

Sadly, that was just my first attempt at grocery shopping. I got much further during the second. In fact, all my groceries were tallied and bagged before I went to reach for my wallet.

"Shit," I said.

The clerk was nonplussed. I've been going there regularly for years, and this is the first time I've sworn at the checkout counter.

"What I need," I continued, and at this she started to look wary. She'd just asked me if I needed any extra bags. "Is my wallet."

Lucky for me, they're lovely there, and let me store my bags behind the counter for 20 or 25 minutes while I went home and got my money.

Third times a charm, I suppose, since I managed to avoid any mishaps, and ran into Eric, who, if I may interject, I never ran into at the grocery store while we were dating but who always seems to be buying food now. He saluted me with a baguette.

I was relieved to get home, and to crawl into the bath to relax my sore thigh. The internet has slightly misreported my bowling injury, though I am almost always pleased when the internet talks about my ass.

Nope, what happens to me if I do approximately 70 lunges with my right leg in about two hours without a thought to stretching at any point, is that my ass is fine, but that one of my hamstring muscles goes from mildly disliking me to outright spitting vitriol.

It's too bad, because I had a good time bowling. The activity was pretty fun in and of itself, though man, I'd forgotten how much I dislike doing anything that requires any kind of physical dexterity in an environment that basically forces people to watch.

Because even though the look in my friends' eyes told me they meant it when they said I looked cute when I bowled and that they were charmed by my robot-like pacing off of the distance between start-line and throw-line, the words themselves were achingly close to the words my classmates used in the decade of gym class I was forced to endure. Nothing is meaner than a 12 year old girl, the sticky sweetest knife sliding between your ribs.

Still and all, it was a fun time. Like Sequencia, bowling is enough activity to keep you occupied but not so much you feel like you're not actually getting to hang out with your friends.

But back to Sunday afternoon. After 70 lunges the day before, a 25 minute walk to Centretown and back in the morning, a yoga class + a half hour of walking to class and back, plus two more 25 minute walks to Centretown and back to finish my three-part shopping, I was grumpy about going out, even if it was to hear people read erotical. I was sore, I was tired, and it was going to be my 7th night out in a row.

I felt like I should, like professionally it would be stupid not to go. And I'm pretty good at making myself do things if I really think I should do them.

I'm glad I went, though, and for only tangentially professional reasons. It made me realize that it's been a dog's age since I've been to a reading without having to do some reading myself. It's a pleasure to just sit back and enjoy being part of the audience, listening to how other people play with words. I did end up doing some open mic stuff, but there was no pressure and no worry about it.

It was also a pleasure to hang out with Amanda, who I haven't seen in a dog's age, and talk writerly stuff. What inspires her, how she gets published, what she's working on, typewriters.

Today continued that trend, when Jennifer and I hied ourselves and our computers over to Bridgehead for some writing. I didn't get that much done, maybe a page's worth of stuff. But I did fill her in on my writerly goal for 2009. More on that later.

The rest of today has felt pretty lazy, though only if you consider two loads of laundry, baking bread, cooking beans, vacuuming the couch, sweeping the house and spot washing the baseboards lazy. Which I don't, come to think of it, but the luxury of sticking around my house, listening to the new Animal Collective album and clearing out a bunch of crap that's been piling up around my house has been very soothing, indeed.

Tonight, I'm really looking forward to cracking the last Guinness in my fridge, playing some more records and enjoying this space where I live.

Considering how tired I was when I woke up this morning, a level of tired not ameliorated by a nap at 10 am, today was an amazingly productive day.

Went to yoga, had lunch with Shelley and M-C, did some chatting and writing with Jennifer, cleaned the bathrooms, cooked up a storm. Tidied. A lot.

How I can tell yesterday was a bad day? When I got home in the wee smas after a very fun time dancing at the Snowblower party, the house was a mess. My mess. I hadn't done a bunch of dishes, only the perishable groceries had been put away, I had pairs of slippers all over the place, the Globe was piled up on top of the phone books that had been sitting in the front hall for a week.

I hate that. So I fixed it.

I'm not entirely sure what's gotten into me, but I am in full force domestic mode.

It happens to a certain degree every winter, but this winter, feels like all I want to do is cook big meals and feed people. I joke that my brother got all the maternal instinct in my family, but I think I've got a streak of it in there. It's just narrow and loopy and comes out in fits and starts.

Tonight, considering how tired I am now that the day is over, I'm going to take the garbage out, see if CT is online and maybe chat him up a bit, and go to bed. My plan is to have lights out by 10:30, unconscious by 11. Getting sleep done.

Friday night, Steve and I had a good veg roast up, with some added sausages and white wine. We loaded our plates and sloshed up our cups and parked ourselves in front of the TV for some IT Crowd. We laughed. Hard and loud.

Then we went out to the Some Street Softcore Gym (aka the garage) where he checked my squat form [insert lascivious comment], showed me how to do deadlifts and inverted rows. When my feet got too cold, we went inside, threw some punches at each other in the living room, and talked about I could set up a workout routine and how I could then fit it in with the yoga and pilates and skating and snowshoeing.

"Running away from anything much?" Steve asked.

"What? How could I possibly be using hours and hours of physical exercise a week to stop myself from thinking about things I'd rather not think about?" I replied.

"I know, preposterous."

I took another swig of wine and nodded solemnly.

++

I know it's been all doom and gloom and blurry and teary around here lately. I feel a bit bad about that, because my life is certainly not all that.

A long lovely chat with CT yesterday, who is just a gem, and looks all-get-out handsome in his new glasses.

Nice chats over pancakes with Grace and Greg, whom I don't get to see as much as I'd like. Ruby and Fiona threw themselves off the bed at me, and a grand time was had by all.

Met Lesley for coffee and writing today, and though we didn't get much of the latter done, man, if you ever want good encouragement and insight, I suggest hanging out with her. We're going to meet again next week. Same time, same place.

I've been having good yoga classes, very focussed and calm and strong. After a year of doing Ashtanga at the same studio, I am starting to feel grace in my movements, and making friends in my classes. Yasmin was bugging me today to come to the Thursday afternoon class, and Chantal joined in. It's nice.

Shovelling tonight, it was warm, and the moon was bright and the air felt good inside me.

M-C came home from NYC crazy jazzed over meeting Joan Nestle at the Lesbian Herstory Archives. Telling stories of 80 year old butches until I got a swelled chest and teary eyes. And then she, M-C, not Joan Nestle, ate some of the 3 billion pieces of leftover pizza in the fridge and made appropriately appreciative noises.

Now that I've decided to just be single, there is one helluva lot more space in my head and schedule for creative projects.

I baked bread and cooked my own beans. My house smells nice.

And it's February.

All in all, 2008 has been a pretty damn good year.

An unexpected year.

On December 31st 2007, I wouldn't have guessed that I'd be sitting in my own house with Shelley and Steve right behind me. I wouldn't have guessed that I'd have a roommate and really like it. I wouldn't have guessed I could do a headstand.

I would have guessed that I'd be single.

But I wouldn't have guessed that I'd have had the chance to not only date three very lovely people but also to keep them in my life as good friends.

I would have guessed that I'd have exactly one whack of excellent friends.

Today's going to be a busy one. I want to wake up tomorrow to a clean, orderly house, with the all the niggling chores I've been putting off all done. Seems like a good way to start a new year. My house isn't a crazy disaster, but it is a slightly perturbed one.

To do:
- clean bathrooms
- change sheets
- wash floors
- put up blinds in bedroom
- tape up paint chips in bathroom
- hooks in closet
- clean fish tank
- take compost to garden
- get new bead for ceiling fan chain
- patch & paint holes where old curtains used to be
- fix splotch on dark blue
- vacuum couch and chair
- buy KC for lobster dinner
- get a door shelf for fridge
- grocery shop for new year's brunch
- do brunch prep

That's a lot. I'd better get going.

But before I do, thank you, everyone, for sticking with me, through my ups and downs, my endless piled-up clauses, my internal confusion, its occasional outward manifestations; the mess, sadness and joy that makes up the day to day of my life. Of a life, anyone's life.

Happy 2009!

Because tonight is a night where my tank is feeling pretty empty, I give you a true web log post.

++

Of general interest:

"Clitoris" on Google's Banned Word List

Doesn't surprise me. Does make me roll my eyes. Why is clitoris still a dirty word? Fucking christ.

++

Of particular interest:

Sex, Relationships, and the Hazards of Default Decisions

Christina's blog is sometimes pretty annoying - her stuff about atheism drives me bonkers, like, okay, we get it, shut up already bonkers - but often is superbly great. This piece, about consciously deciding what your relationship will look like, and Fuck People, is smart and insightful and man, it's just nice to read someone else saying the words I think in my head.

* dating: in the abstract and its actuality
* heartbreak
* avidya
* soup
* herpes
* weights
* medicine
* walking
* schedules

Just to make sure, on the way home from giving the fellatio workshop at venus envy tonight, I touched the plant.

I don't know if you've seen me biking around town, but if you have, you'd certainly know it. I wouldn't have snuck by you.

My bike is an old bike, and has the clangs and squeaks to prove it. Okay, you'd probably not notice on a busy street, like, say Somerset after work. But when I come a-squeaking and a-clanging around a quiet corner on a quiet night, in the dark, with no cars, say the corner of two residential streets, a corner with a convenience store on it, a corner with a planter in front of a convenience store, well, you'd notice.

You'd especially notice if this noisy intruder into your quiet balcony chat stopped suddenly and inexplicably in front of some crazy begonia-looking plant. Except you probably wouldn't understand that she had stopped in front of some crazy tropical begonia in Ottawa, because really, begonia-looking plants in front of convenience stores are not something that hipster-type boys with front lawns full of garbage probably pay much attention to.

You'd notice her come to a standstill, and then you'd watch as she got off her bike, thrust her nose closely at that weird big-leaved plant you'd never noticed was there. You'd watch her stand up again, pause for a moment, not bother looking around for people. You'd see her put her hand deep into the plant and see her elbow work as she moved her fingers slowly up and down the stem.

You'd probably mumur something quietly to your friend, but sound carries, and she'd hear the voice, though not the words. She'd snatch her hand back and stare up like a deer in the headlights. She'd shake her head, clamber back up on her bike, and set off with what she hoped was an air of insouciance, pretending like she didn't just get caught jacking off a plant on a quiet corner in Chinatown, in the dark of night.