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What if I pushed through
another month of writing?
What if this time I didn't use
the painting to run from the writing?
Would there be more truth?
Would the shame and guilt of it all
eat my guts out like worms
in a boneyard? I hear Dad,
"Don't be so dramatic daughter-
Maybe I should grab-a-backbone
from a resident of the boneyard.
I know creativity is about going
beyond your comfort zone.
I know you get the best stuff
when you go there.
I've been there.
It's a marvelous place.
Strange that I came back.
Guess I should read Moby Dick.
One of the classics you're supposed
to read if you want to be a writer.
Want to write? Gotta read.
Didn't find it at Betty's.
Then realized I already have it;
down in the den of iniquity (the basement).
One of the twelve volumes of hardcovers
Nana left me. Loved those books
when I was a kid. Recalling Moby Dick
I thought then, this is a boy's story;
don't wanna read it.
Wonder if I'll like it now?
Do prefer books about young boys.
Boy that really sounds creepy
when you read it back.
Maybe I did have lousy bosses
my last three jobs.
1 - boss from hell, a tyrant, real bitch,
smart if only she had a functioning heart.
2 - fucking idiot afraid of his staff;
locked in his office everyday.
3 - the useless knucklehead now.
Yes I've considered is it me?
as you suggest.
Let me ask you the same thing.
Why did your partner and best friend
fuck you over taking what was yours?
Why did a professional designer
fuck you over taking what was yours?
Why did your own brother
fuck you over taking what was ours?
Guess bad things come in threes.
Can you start a car with a spoon?
That's what I pulled out of my purse
3 times while searching
for my god blessed keys.
Kristy and I met to do our weekly
coffee shop writing. She picked topic
and prepared something great.
Choosing from three boxes,
inside was a little ceramic purse.
1. Describe how this purse is like you.
2. What's in your own purse,
how does it reflect your life?
We write for an hour
then exchange writings.
My purse contains loads of papers
and silverware. Feel safe with my papers;
artwork, ideas, genealogy, bills.
I also love to eat.
Here are all the list of things
he has broken or destroyed
since we met 8 years ago:
Hair dryer diffuser,
several favourite wine glasses,
pair of $500 sunglasses,
a favourite sweatshirt,
china egg cup,
Here are the list of things
he has replaced
since we met 8 years ago:
He says he is not klutzy,
that "extraordinary things happen
at the most inopportune times-.
When ever I break something of mine
he says "Good thing I didn't do that-.
He thinks its cute. I just wish he would
make an effort to replace my things.
I want to routinely shave my legs,
and have sex at least 3x a week.
I want to make my bed every morning.
I want to recycle, and get it to the curb
on the correct day.
I want to ride my stationary bike.
I don't want to pay interest
on my credit card,
or eat limp lettuce.
I want to have healthy food
in the house and pack such a lunch
I want to have a clean basement
and an uncluttered mind.
I want to be nice to my boss,
and my mother.
I want to be good.
Monday never goes away.
It just keeps coming
with the excitement of a visiting
Bringing with it a bounty of things
you don't want. Lingering hangover
from the pinot of Saturday night,
stupid drivers, wrong coffee order
from Tim Horton's (later spilled
on your shirt), Monday morning
meetings, coverage for a "sick-
co-worker, something forgotten
to be done from Friday.
On vacation, I laugh in the face
of Monday. Telling it that it can't
get me down. I stay up late Sunday,
I sleep in, drink chai, eat scones.
Monday's a beautiful thing.
Taking another mental health day
Can't function in this disorder.
Attacking the Den of Iniquity
(the basement). Shoveled out
the bedroom yesterday,
papers, books, papers...
We're supposed to be selling
our house, but the lawsuit isn't
settled yet. Guess we'll just enjoy
the new deck for summer instead.
Maybe dry wall some of the basement.
At least the part you see
when you come in the front door.
Also want to get a screen door
on the front. Love the look of a garden,
but don't want to do the work.
Can I hire someone?
Maybe Deb our house cleaner?
Can almost see my art desk.
It's being unearthed by the cleaning
of the Den of Iniquity. It sits
with 5 half finished paintings,
under 2 newly purchased
$250. lamps I had to have.
LuLu, Kristy and I are doing
a bi-weekly writing-painting project,
(along with the weekly writings
Kristy and I do at the coffee shop).
First project was assigned by LuLu.
Write for an hour as if you were
a character in a book you are reading.
Create art to reflect your story.
I'm reading Lovely Bones.
We'll exchange writings and artwork
via email every 2 weeks.
Deadlines are good.
Canadians are stupid for maple.
Tim Horton's advertising tells us so.
Canadians donned in toques, iceskates
Fair-Isle sweaters; (always winter
when we want maple) doing nonsensical
acts in the name of maple.
Am I supposed to know something
about maple syrup?
Can you believe it's made from
tree sap? Why isn't it green, sour?
Why aren't ants dog-paddling
through it? Do they?
Why does Winnie the Pooh
eat honey from a tree?
Why not maple syrup?
After all he was named after Winnipeg.
What do you do with maple syrup?
2004 Canadian Marketer of the Year:
Today while walking back to work
after my birthday lunch with Pat,
I saw a man slap himself in the face
seven times - hard.
He tumbled out of the TD Bank,
wigged out, then jumped on his bike
and took off in the snow.
Many times I have wanted
to slap myself in the face
after coming out of a bank too.
Downtown Windsor has become
a place where all of the sad souls
gather; an island of misfits.
Sometimes I feel like I am only one
screaming fit, one ant-depressant,
one paycheck away from
being there too.
Excited about the golf bag
he won for me on Ebay today!
It's pink and teal leather,
retro from the 1960's
Beautiful with my sparkly
fish head cover. Can you believe
I'm going to golf?
My Scottish rellies will be proud.
Me and my iridescent blue
mermaid clubs. He's a good teacher,
so far its fun. My brother said,
"You do realize golfing
is done outside-?
Not a fan of outside.
That'll be the hurdle.
Golf girls at work say cute outfits
keep you motivated.
Looking forward to walking
some of the bum off.
Geesh - things we do for exercise.
Can I be deep and shallow
simultaneously? Just bought
a "plump up your lips"lipstick,
and some anti-wrinkle eye serum
that makes my eyes tear.
Worried about my face,
yet my ass just keeps growing.
Got to get back on my eating
regime. It helped me loose 20lbs.
My curly-haired-head looks big
next to his slim-silver-haired pinhead.
How does one get used to body
and face growing older?
It's such a cruel game.
Who's in charge anyway?
Where's the complaint office?
Not thrilled with what I got
in the first place.
This customer wants a refund.
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I hate those people who's lips
naturally are in the shape
of a smile. They look agreeable
and cheerful at all times.
They could be approaching
to tell you your dog was just hit
by a mac truck and is spattered
all over your drive way
and their mouth still would be
in a smile. Even after saying,
"I've got some bad news-.
Eye brows would be furrowed
in the sadest way, but their teeth
would still be peeking through
curved lips. Me on the other hand
just look pissed off at all times.
That's the irish poor mouth thing.
Woke up this morning
and someone had stolen my hair.
Got the locks cut yesterday.
Nearly eight inches gone.
Charles, a cutie - but gay,
cut it to the middle of my back.
He said, "How's that-?
Had been thinking about it
for over a year. "Shorter-, I said.
Had a photo and he duplicated
it perfectly. Husband says,
"Women lure men with long,
flowing manes, then once you
have us, you lop it off-.
Just to my shoulders,
he really likes it. A few pangs
of anxious regrets watching shampoo
commercials since. My long curls
have always been my identity.
Chapters called, my book's in.
Poor Mouth by Fann O'Brien.
Appropriate for St. Patrick's Day.
It's been translated to English
from Gaelic. Maybe Fann O'Brien
can explain the I.P.M.
(Irish Poor Mouth).
Mother got silent when
I brought it up.
That's known as the I.S.T.
(Irish Silent Treatment).
She thinks that I'm speaking
down to her. I'm just trying
to learn more about the fucked up
Irish culture. She says
"You don't learn, you just are-.
Yeah, I'm wearing green,
might even drink a green beer
or a Guiness tonight.
But don't really think I'm Irish.
When we're sisters-in-law
will you use the secrets
I've shared against me?
Will you use my vulnerability
to move in closer to the family?
Will I be the idiot once again
with exposed thoughts, feelings?
Am I imparting wisdom?
Am I teaching you something
you pretend you don't know?
Am I caught up in my own ego
and unaware of your accord.
Is it better to be silent?
Is there power in silence?
Or does your head blow off
at another time?
Don't want to be disappointed
again, I blindly keep talking.
I'm either unaware,
or very dense.
It is 7:15pm, just felt the ground
move. No not having sex with hubby.
They're dynamiting the salt mines;
on schedule. Really need to know
more about the salt mines.
Intrigued with the idea
that we are living on top
of a dried up ocean.
Growing up here I never knew
we had salt mines in this town.
Wasn't really allowed off
the porch until I was 18,
so how could you know anything?
Sometimes I think she kept
these things from us,
so she would know more.
At any rate this town doesn't
know how to sing its own praises.
LuLu tells me its the Equinox,
Spring. On this day you should
seed intent for the whole year.
For me I think I need to "weed-
intent for the whole year.
There seems to be all kinds of ideas
and partial plans in my garden.
But weeds keep springing
up, choking off my petunias
from air and sunshine.
Maybe I should be looking
at planting tomatoes instead.
Maybe I am purposely not saving
my petunias from the weeds.
Maybe I should replan my garden;
or just let it grow.
No wonder my favourite movie
is Being There with Peter Sellars.
Last night my brother and I
sat in front of my computer
with a glass of wine.
We tried to think of toys
we had as kids (we had some
cool toys). Wanted to see
if we could find them on Ebay.
Sure enough Woolly Willy, James
and Jane West dolls (action figures
brother was quick to point out),
plastic vests, chaps
and horses were there too.
Dance-a-rina, my ballet doll.
Underwater G.I. Joe, selling
for $800! Couldn't find our Batman
cards, we had a stack of them.
Mother threw them out when
we argued over them.
This industry I'm in is in a heap
of trouble. Graphic design,
production, and printing now all
being done in the east. Continually
jobs are being sent to India, China.
Globalization is forcing industry
to morph. Not sure what
we'll morph into. But I'm not
interested in pursuing it.
In the 1990's, saw lots of designers
do the same; they wouldn't board
the technology train.
Changes will undoubtedly be about
more technology. I'm just not
interested in learning anything
more about design software
or hardware. Continuous educating
has completely burned me out.
When do I get to coast?
Mother scowled that sister kid
was upsetting the children
by showing too much emotion
about her recent marriage separation.
I explained I didn't believe
sister kid was showing anything
What's wrong with showing
strong emotion? This is the way
children learn to connect appropriate
feelings with the correct emotions.
If father passes out drunk
in his spaghetti, is everyone
at the table supposed to look
straight ahead and keep eating?
By telling children
nothing is wrong
when intuition is saying
their is, really can fuck a kid up.
She was silent for a few seconds
and then said,
Mother hates that we have
minds of our own.
For so long we five didn't.
Now adults in our 30's and 40's
we will no longer
"do as we are told-,
So she has distanced herself
from us. Moved to the Northern
backwoods and into a shack
without insulation or heat.
But never too far from
the phone or email.
We were the strongest supporters
of the foolishness she has been
feeding herself for years.
I always thought if she got
a break she'd do amazing things.
Breaks came and went,
she didn't see them some how.
Mother's obsession with control
has left her completely out of control.
She is crippled if she has to do
B before A, even in the smallest way.
Putting bills into her wallet
before the change, signing without
her special pen, scraping every
last drop from the sides of a bowl.
Its to an extreme.
Time is lost, people get pissed,
there's an avalanche of problems
that occur from this behaviour.
Synchronicity, nature, providence
can not be controlled. But she doesn't
believe in those things.
She doesn't trust the universe
will give her what's needed,
when she needs it.
People can be so fucked up.
Let's sit in front of father-in-law
and take the verbal abuse he's been
dishing out to you for 46 years.
So what Italian, respect!
In my world respect is earned
not given just because you're
some father figure.
You're a dying old man.
You're pissed off you can't drink
any more; interferes with Plavix.
Morta diemo: Die already!
Just like you said to your father.
Quit your whining and buck up.
I didn't grow up this way.
And I'm not going to sit here
and take this from you or anyone.
Mother, there is no
"ship that is coming in"
Stop making plans around the ship.
There's been a mutiny aboard
and your ship is lost forever.
Those stinking pirates are off
somewhere with your treasures.
They've bought your white cadillac.
They've been and back from Ireland.
They've had their faces lifted
and their tummies tucked.
They've poured insulation
into the walls, and put a basement
underneath the house.
They've unpacked their china,
and set up the quilting rack.
Yesterday a giant wave grounded
their ship on a rock.
Without rowboats they will die
aboard, one by one, alone
with their riches.
LuLu tells me my North Node
is in Leo. That I spent many
past lives as a scientist, observer
whereas this life is about learning
to play and enjoy myself.
My North Node is in the 7th House
(Libra House). I spent many past
lives as a warrior and this life
is about helping others win
Maybe in my next life
I'll exercise more, tan less,
sleep with more people,
live where I can ride my bike
to work, live in a snazzy condo
overlooking the water.
Go to university for a PHD.
I'll listen more, talk less.
Sister kid has a secret.
Not sure what it is - but its big.
Hoped she'd get close
to me again once her marriage
was over. But the opposite is true.
She hasn't even spoken to Mother
in almost 6 months.
Mothers can see.
Segna our step-mother isn't
a real mother, but she can see
There's a secret all right.
Is it a new man?
Why can't she be the kind
of sister who'll come to me.
Why do I have to be the kind
of sister who waits for her
to come to me.
And she never does.
Things Nana taught me before
she died last year at eighty four.
Compassion for the elderly.
Never stop trying new things.
High heels look good at any age.
Say what you think,
do what you feel.
You've got to have something
to look forward to.
Can never have too much jewellery.
If you want to write, read.
Home is the best place to be.
Anyone can paint if they really
have the passion.
Being outside is rejuvenating.
Life is shorter than you think.
No one can cook an egg properly.
My father is not,
nor ever will be Granddad.
Taking a month off to paint.
For me painting inspires writing,
writing inspires painting.
Want to explore a couple ideas
I've been kicking around;
a series of imagery on "Socials-.
Socials were parties organized by
women at the turn of the century.
A way for women to get together
outside the home. Usually there
was a theme that leant itself
to flamboyant decorating.
A Tea Social, Spring Floral Social.
I'll probably do some research,
some colour samples, read some
verbiage as it pertains to the time
period. Possibly even get a few
things on paper.
I'll see you in May.
The Tip Jar