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Last night almost earned me Darwin Awards candidacy. I came home to find my apartment stunk of gas. Have I mentioned before how much I loathe that gas stove? All the jets on the burners had gone off, so had the one in the oven. The burners are easy, a lit match and whoosh, but I've never had to light the oven before, and there's no way to shut the gas off that I know of. So, there am I, windows wide letting in the frigid November air, with my head stuck in a gas-filled oven with a lit match.
Migraines, how i hate thee, let me count the ways. It's so rare that they get me ill enough to actually throw up, but I did today. The weird thing about throwing up because of a headache though, is that despite the grossness of vomitting, you feel one hell of a lot better after doing so. A bit weaker maybe, perhaps the tiny vestiges of a fever, but otherwise fine. I hate my migraines because they make me very sensitive to odours - so the smells of soap, deoderant, shampoo, cleaning products, perfume, cigarettes, can drive me 'round the proverbial twist.
The past year I've noticed how my taste for snacks has switched from craving sweet things like ice cream and chocolate, to wanting more salthy snacks like potato chips. It's not that I don't like sweets anymore, I just think my body's craving the salts in the other foods because my diet is so terrible normally. Whatever the reason, I just get far more satisfaction out of salts than I do out of sugars. The company who makes Lays potato chips should be very happy. I'm sure I've bought enough bags of them to keep a small nation debt free.
I got hooked on this website that lets me track where my paper money's been or where it goes. There's no guarantee that someone will get the money and report where they got it from. It's amusing, but I'm getting tired of hand writing on the bills and copying out serial numbers to enter on the site. I need a rubber stamp. I have yet to find someone else's Willy. It's not as vulgar as it sounds. Willy refers to Wilfred Laurier, the first French Canadian prime minister of Canada, who appears on our lovely blue five dollar bill. http://www.whereswilly.com
I have come to the conclusion, several times in fact, that I should stop having my period. Now. Forever. Permanently. I am tired of it, and it's not like I was ever a fan to begin with. I figure that since I have been spayed, and thus have no practical purpose for spending a few days out of every month propagating aenemia, it should just stop. It's messy and inconvenient, and just plain yucko. It makes one bitchy, depressed, uncomfortable, bloated, weak, and sickly. Really, whose bright idea was it, anyhow? How was that for the "too much information" record?
I did something today that I haven't done in years. I deliberately attempted to exercise. Before my friend Diane had her baby, we'd discussed things to do whilst she was on maternity leave. Her idea was water aerobics. Sounded good to me. I even bought the first bathing suit I've purchased since I was about 20. I can't swim, nor do I beach, so having a bathing suit seemed a wee pointless. Today was the first day. We got to the pool... and lo, there was no water aerobics today. Someone was having a swim meet. There's a message in that.
I haven't written much poetry in a long while. I used to write it constantly, but that seems to be the province of the ngsting youth. There is something about poetic expression that lends itself to the exposition or detailing of particularly painful feelings when you're young. Or perhaps it is simply some small dream in the backs of our minds that tells us we'll create the perfect lyric, it will become a song, everyone will love, and wish they'd expressed just that thing, just that way. I've grown to prefer prose more, it comes more easily to me now.
I could never answer any of those favourite band or film questions. When I was younger I could, you get so fervent about things when you're a teen. But, as an adult, I find I can't pin one thing down. I like many things for many different reasons. To be honest, sometimes it's mere fascination that drives my liking, rather than being able to pick out specifics like the acting, or lyrics, or story, or innovation. And some things I like simply because they serve no purpose other than to entertain or "waste" time. They exist just to be enjoyed.
I'm running out of lemon bath gel! I love this stuff, it smells JUST like lemon pie! I got hooked on the lemon and orange bath and shower gels from Sainsburys when I was in England. They're yummy, and very citrusy, unlike the ones from the Body Shop which are far too sweet. That store is like poison to me. Five minutes in there and I have a migraine that could fell an entire herd of oxen. I really should find out the extent of this chemical sensitivity and see if there is anything I can do to alleviate it.
Wow. I mean *wow*. I'm getting published! Okay, so it's only weekly articles in one of the university's newspapers, but it's still published! Originally the editor (who really seems to like my work so far) had wanted book and movie reviews, but they're not something I'm terribly good at, so I offered up some general stuff that ranges a variety of topics. She accepted every single piece I submitted. The surprise bonus? I actually get paid for each accepted submission. I would have done it for nothing. This puts a big happiness all over my face. I Am Getting Published.
I like using pine scented cleaners when I'm cleaning my apartment. There's something much more satisfying about the scent of that stuff floating through the air than many other cleaners. Also, pine and lemon scented ones are of the few that don't drive my chemical sensitivity through the roof. I've got a very low tolerance level for the garbage they put in cleaning products these days. I just cleaned my tub. It's all sparkly. And what iss the first time I am going to do after I finish this and drink my tea? Dirty it again by taking a bath.
I need a new lamp. This room is so dim in the evenings, even with the two I have, that it's difficult to read. This really cuts into the available time I have for studying, particularly now that the days are getting microscopically short. I found one in the catalogue that's a 300 watt halogen. That should do it! Now if only I could convince auto makers that halogen doesn't belong in headlights. May be good for driving, but boy is it a bitch being a pedestrian and blinded by them. "Hey buddy, while you're idling, turn off your high beams!"
Despite my bed being broken, and my being unable to purchase a new one, I have had to take to sleeping in it again (and not on my pull-out sofa) because the jackass who lives in the flat underneath me, seems to think that anytime of the day or night (particularly far too late and far too early o'clock) are really great times to play his gawd awful music and loud video games. He has one that makes me feel like I'm in Poe's "The Telltale Heart"; this constant rumbling heartbeat that thumps, and thumps, and thumps. Grumble! I'm cranky.
One of these days I should count exactly how many cups of tea I drink per day. So far, all I've got is the extremely precise mathematical number of "a lot". I remember learning, as a child, that there actually are quasi-accepted numeric equivalents for terms like "a few", "many", and "some". I think "a few" is supposed to be "four or five". It's odd, when you think about it, how many words the English language has for numerics without any precise value attached to them, yet only one word for love, friend, and family - things which morph constantly.
Sometimes it amazes me, and comes as a surprise, how well people think of me. I don't realise, good or bad, the consequences of my actions. So, when I get complimented or told I'm loved, I've got little concept of why. I used to negate such thing. Now I take accept them. It's a nice feeling to be able to admit to yourself that you are liked. It's not, as some would have you think, a function of egocentrism to admit that you have good qualities. Where did we go so wrong as to allow ourselves to buy into that?
I quite often listen to a major market rock radio station that comes out of Toronto. They have a phone line that you can call in and leave little messages that are sometimes played on air. It makes me giggle when people call up to thank the DJ for choosing such wonderful music. I hate to burst the bubble of the unaware, but at most any commercial radio station (excepting requests shows) the DJ's are in no way responsible for the music. It is chosen for them by a music director who has quotas to fill and scheduling to meet.
I don't have much of a sense of entitlement. I am far too long in the tooth for that sort of business, but when someone promises that they're going to help me out with something, I have this silly habit of putting my trust in them actually doing so. I've had a lot of very needed help from a lot of very dear friends, for which I am very grateful, but there is one quarter from which I was expecting aid, and that aid is not forthcoming. It's leaving me in a rather nasty financial position. What else is new.
I need a nap. A very long, comfy, warm snuggly nap with no interruptions, no telephone, no beepy computer, no knocks at my door, no buzzer ringing, no cars going past, no noise from the neighbours, and no visitions from the rare (yet irritating) mouse population. I want to go to bed and wake up with absolutely no immediate worries dogging me. I want to wake up and find my apartment's been cleaned by a troupe of pixies that wield dust rags in the night. I also want a million dollars, but that's about as likely to happen as cleaner-elves.
Good heavens things seem to install an awful lot of spyware these days. I'm not so worried about them finding out personal information. The only way to be free from spies and sabateurs on the Internet, is never to use the Internet to begin with. I can understand not deliberately divulging personal information, but there are some people who take the whole 'net privacy thing to ridiculous extremes. It's not safe out there kids, and believing that you are safe is a fantasy. Take precautions, certainly, but don't believe for a second that you're totally secure. Oh, and download Ad-Aware.
You know what's amazing about cleaning a messy apartment? Discovering things like actually having a floor, or carpet. I can now walk through my bedroom without fear of tripping over something, breaking something, or disturbing any resident pygmy population that may have taken up residence in the piles of clothes, books and paintings. They must have seen me coming, because I have found no evidence of them. Now I need to defrost the freezer. It will be just like reliving the iceberg scene from any version of Titanic. Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe housework? I loathe housework.
I've decided the three things I want should I be endowed with magical, supernatural, or superhuman powers. I want telekinesis, a photographic memory, and to be instantly able to understand and use any foreign language I come in contact with. I don't want to read minds; that's a power that lends itself far too easily to feeding paranoia and mistrust. It brings too much temptation with it. I want, instead, to be able to clean my flat without moving from my chair (telekinesis), and to never forget a damned thing I see or hear (would make studying a lot easier).
I suffer intermittent insomnia, so when I get the chance to have a good night's sleep, I appreciate it the same way the starving appreciate a big dinner. So the other night I found myself curled up cozily in my bed, easing my way in that nice sleepy manner towards what I thought would be a deep, at least six hours sleep. Alas, it was not to be. I woke up two and a half hours later. This I'm used to. What got me, was that I'd spent those precious hours dreaming about... cleaning my toilet. I feel ripped off.
Bob Dylan has to be one of the most boring and soporiphic people to have escaped the 1960's. It's not his voice (I like Neil Young and Leonard Cohen, after all, and they aren't exactly stellar vocalists). It's the *way* he uses his voice that bothers me, most of the stuff he writes and the way he's written it. To get a bit over-zealous about it, I wonder how folk rock managed to survive with that man as its figurehead. He's dull. I must be missing some essential understanding element when it comes to him, as so many think he's deiriffic.
Today was the baptism for my friend's daughter. I'd have been chosen for godmother if it hadn't been for the fact that I've renounced the church and am an avowed atheist. I think it was better she chose people from her family anyhow. Although I no longer care for the church, baptism is still a nice thing, methinks. Perhaps a bit too much ceremony, but when one is baptised in the Catholic church, one is never alone, because (regardless of what your beliefs may be) you'll always be part of something. And community is precious, we need belonging to survive.
After the baptism yesterday, there was a small dinner at the church hall. I sat with a married couple I know, and their children. That man has to be one of the most ill-mannered and crass individuals I've met in years. He has no concept of ettiquette in any sense, nor how to behave towards one's children (particularly in public places). He has the emotional and behavioural maturity of a loud, obnoxious 15 year-old (which would be fine if he weren't almost 40). It's now no wonder to me, why those kids are always stressed and whiney. I feel badly for them.
I got a phone call from some "consumer" agency the other day, who wanted to conduct a survey. Fine, I'm all for the surveys. I just don't care for the telephone salespeople. What I would like to know, is why they needed to ask all those questions about Canada's Liberal political party. A thinly veiled way of finding out who I'd be more likely to vote for? Too bad for them that I never have, and likely never will, vote Liberal, particularly not if that annoying tit Sheila Copps was party leader. That woman is ridiculous, irritating, whiney, and laughable.
This apartment, which is unbearably too hot in summer, has the unfortunate counterbalance of being far too cold in winter. I resent having to wear socks inside, I tell you! And a sweater! And pants! I have no problem with the increase in the amount of tea I drink in winter. I'm addicted to the stuff anyhow. Tea good. Yum. It should be a major food group - so should chips, chocolate, ice cream, cheesecake, garlic bread, and... I'll stop there. I'm making myself hungry, and this is a broke, too late in the day to go shopping, kind of time.
If you won the lottery, what is the first thing you would do?
Eat! Seriously. I'd go out and buy the biggest steak dinner I could find. Then I'd shut up about it for a week, and decide what to do. After investing of most of it, I'd buy a house, furnish it acceptably, pay debts, invite everyone I know to a big party, travel, set up a business, set up a studio, buy gifts for family and friends... none of this is in any particular order except for the eating. Eat first. Can't sensibly function on an empty stomach.
Forgiveness is wonderful, but it can't be had through barter, manipulation, or the pulling of punches. If you want honest forgiveness, rather than capitulation, then you have to take an honest look at yourself, your faults, what it is you are responsible for. Good friendships aren't based on point scoring or who has the upper-hand; they are based on mutual enjoyment of another's company, respect, caring, trust, and many other things besides. Abuse either, and you cannot rightly expect good things to be returned to you. Don't point fingers unless you're willing to point at yourself, or be pointed at.
I've recently got addicted to playing online Scrabble. I really enjoy the game - not for the winning, just because I like to make words. I even help my opponents when they're having trouble picking words. I do that when I play Scrabble offline also. The tiles are like pieces of a puzzle that one has to rearrange and make the best use of. That's the challenge, and the fun - not the scoring of points. Scrabble is one of the best games ever invented. Lego being the best toy, before they went and ruined the concept by producing only pre-fab sets.
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