Sunday, March 26, 2006

Bears Great Vibe With the Earth

i now know why we have winter. and i now know why i wouldn't want to give it up. we have winter because of spring. we have winter because of this feeling right now.

keep in mind that it is only five degrees celcius. and there is still snow on 80% of the ground. and that there are puddles. and mud. and that i have to clean the cats' feet off every time they come in the house and they hate it and it is hard to do with three cats, but i do it cause i love them and i love spring so i don't mind. i don't mind any of it. the warmth of the sun and the lesseness. lessness. . there's less snow.

i can now go outside with just a sweater on. i can now expect to get in a car and feel toasty in a sun warmed car. i can now expect to close my eyes and feel the sun and see that warm summer sun red in my eyes and i can now expect for sunny days. it's one of the ultimate feelings in the world. you can't help but smile everywhere you go. it's a sun induced euphoria. and damn but it feels good.

i'm just a pawn to the weather.

i feel so manipulated.

. .


. . slipping back into sun induced euphoria.

i woke up to sunshine this morning. when i used to sleep late, i used to have to shut my curtains because i couldn't sleep through the morning with so much sun. but i pretty much wake up with the sun, now. so i don't have to buy that light alarm clock that i always wanted cause i have my very own sun alarm clock that will get me into a great vibe with the earth.

. . slipping back into sun induced euphoria.

the other night i slept with the light on in the hall and it totally messed with my sleep and my dreams and my head. i will remember never to do that again. but i can pretty much nap pleasantly under the afternoon sun. maybe that has to do with the sun never being up during the night time, which is when i sleep.

great vibe with the earth.

. . slipping back into sun induced euphoria.

it's true. i just sit there staring into space and feeling warm and good, with the lights out but the sun up. it's the best way to be in the rooms. with all the artificial light out but the sun up.

i was made mostly for hibernation. perhaps i am part bear.

bears great vibe with the earth.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

There is a Drawer in the House That I Live and the Return of the Purple Elephant

there is a drawer in the house that i live.
sometimes i open it to look right in.
upon closing it up
the whole house is lit up
in a sound that makes your head spin.

the sound is like daggers for ears.
almost so high pitched i cannot hear.
but just high enough
that it's made of the same stuff
that makes up panic and fear.

so i pull the drawer back out.
cannot breathe till the sound is out.
but the sound is a mys-tree
happens in. inconsistenly.
i wish i could figure it out.

i won't lie and say i'm not scared.
cause it's mostly just freaky and weird.
there's nothing inside;
believe me, we tried.
so we try and pretend it's not there.

The weekend is strange. or this weekend is strange. or i'm just strange, this weekend - if i am to be most thorough in my scientific investigation. but i'm not sure when it became a scientific investigation. perhaps it was just then.

and just then....

a giant poodle walked down the street. next to a giant purple elephant. they didn't speak to each other and no one spoke to them.

no one spoke of it.

speak to me. speak to me . . don't speak to me.

and just then....

she was just then formulating a plan . . just. then.

it seems to me, however, that no one could appreciate this. could you appreciate this? intermittently. is there a balance?
or am i off-balance?

i'm off-balance.

just imagine them dancing.

what colour was the poodle?

it's a trick question:
i never told you.

what colour was your poodle?

what kind of alarm is it?

how mennymore times will i post before i sleep?

how mennymore times will you read?

These Things That Make Sense To Me

i just had random sandwiches.

i love wednesdays cause they are sooo random.

what day is it today anyway? the sun knocked out my senses.

i have a love hate thing going on with bright lights.
i have a love hate thing going on with a lot of things these days.

i simply love the sun.

the light pierces through my eyelids . . give me darkness instead.
the sun warms my eyes till i see red . . darkness is sin.

i have a love hate thing going on with children.
i have a love hate thing going on with a lot of things these days.

i simply love children.

the sounds piercing through my eyelids . . give me silence instead.
laughter warms the undead . . silence is sin.

i have a love hate thing going on with myself.
i have a love hate thing going on with a lot of things these days.

i simply love myself.

the thought pierces through my eyelids . give me anyone else instead.
but mostly i don't mind it . cause i like the me i'm in.

it's awkward in the middle, but i'm working it out.

there were so many other things to say. the book in my head is a whole lot better.

** why do i continue to use capitals in my titles when i don't use them anywhere else? why do i lock everything?

drunk girl: i can't believe i lost my keys.
w: well what do they look like, i will look for...
drunk girl: i can't believe i lost my keys. i can't believe i lost my keys. there was my snowboard key, my locked drawer key, my apartment key, my key to my violin (?)...
me: your problem is you lock too many things.

... looks like p.s. out of control. this is always happening to me.

eff. . you, too? **

Thursday, March 23, 2006

Poetry and Diamonds

one of the moms came to pick up their babies today and she actually referred to booger baby as 'booger baby'. it was hilarious! i never actually refer to booger baby as 'booger baby' out loud. just here. she's my favourite mom, for sure.

some guy commented on my last post that his cats are better and they won nobel peace prizes (yup, two of them)... now i don't know who this guy is or even if he's got cats. but he's either wrong or lying. so don't believe him. i mean, who's ever heard of cats winning nobel peace prizes. besides, my cats don't believe in competition. they are peace lovin' - if you don't include the birds and mice that momma kills in the summer. but those are gifts for me. it used to be a bird and a mouse every day next to a wildly grinning adorable skinny black cat with a crooked tail. i done good dudn't i? and damnit if she didn't catch me a little bunny wabbit. mind you, i was traumatized by this, considering she left only the tail end and that bunny wabbit used to walk me to work every day. but think about it: she must be super agile, super fast, super cat, she must! anyway, z set him straight and she's not lying about the animal hate thing. she was determined to hate my cats. and yet... they're preciousness prevailed and she's hopelessly addicted. it's pathetic if you ask me. she loves the zoo... even if she does think it strange.

i didn't mean to talk about the cats so much... but then again i never do.

i had something funny to write. i know this because i remember thinking i'll blog that but now i don't remember what that was. but that happens to me all the time. if only i could blog on the spot by just thinking about it. then my blog would be that much more entertaining.

the disclaimer was for you, and you know it. i think this is the poetry anniversary... diamonds are a ways off. but you should start saving:

i've always heard it said before and i always knew it true
cause the covers don't say anything like the words inside it do.
but they never told me childhood lesson's are analagous
that covers and books mean bigger things, like faces and like us.
so here we have the blog, it's like a book without a cover
i never see the faces, while i'm learning about others.
no artificial judgment, but a look at what's inside.
and from what i've read, i couldn't unlike you if i tried.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

My Cats Are Better Than Your Cats

my cats are better than your cats. seriously.

it doesn't matter who you are, or who your cats are or just how cute you think your cats are. they just aren't as cute as mine. it's been settled.

and dogs just... well. they're dogs. i mean. c'mon people. you must see the problem, too. it's just so obvious. the smell. the slobbering. the desperate attempts at attention. eff. they are worse than children.

booger baby - and i use this term in the nicest possible way cause he's my fave, and just happens to be sick, so booger baby is a descriptive term and nothing more - crawled onto my lap today and had a little nap. and eff, if that's not the cutest thing ever. babies, even booger babies, are sickenly adorable when they are being sickenly adorable. who said 'terrible twos' anyway... musta meant effing fours. big baby is throwing tantrums all over the place. but thanks to super nanny on TLC, i know the trick: ignore them! sounds terrible, i guess. but it's really the only thing that works. why do kids do anything? for attention. and why do they keep doing things? cause you keep giving them the attention, you fools! give them attention when they deserve it, people. DO NOT REINFORCE NEGATIVE BEHAVIOUR.

anyway, snuggly babies = the cutest. tantrum babies = not the cutest. therefore, snuggly babies = not tantrum babies, or something like that if my logic class taught me anything... which just proves that logic is not logical cause we all know snuggle babies can = tantrum babies, and that's why we don't kill em off. eff'n little schizophrenics.

z: i write it e-f-f.
a: no, that's the way i write it.
z: you must have stole that from me.
a: you must have stole that from my blog. anyway, r told me he had never seen anyone write it like that before.
z: i must have stole it from your blog.

eff'n plagiarists.

... just two more weeks and two days left of this insanity. and by then it better damn well be eff'n spring so that i can dress all springly slick to make up for the re-used, boogered on, spit up on, all over child dirted on clothes that i have been living in the past week and a half.

eff, i need a shower.

** disclaimer: not meant to discourage any future parents. kids are really not all bad, in fact they are mostly good. and pretty easy, too (there's always tv. or pretending to fall. or making funny noises. or shaking your head back and forth and making a funny face. kids are suckers for the simple stuff). just don't have seven children that belong to other people and don't be the person who is thrown into the lion's den without any of the kids being used to you. their worlds are small and the slightest change is the hugest deal. and when they are really upset, it's never for the reasons they tell you... mostly, they have no idea why. just like they don't know when they've eaten too much. or if they are tired. mostly they don't know what they want ever, even when they think they do. ah hell. they are mostly just like us, cept littler. with teeny tiny high pitched voices. that they use at incredi-high volumes no matter what to make up for their small stature.... see, just like us. **

Saturday, March 18, 2006

Experimental Results

conclusion: satisfaction is inversely proportional to expectation.

i don't know how many times i am going to get the same result before i finally stop testing the theory. i will never learn. i suppose you've always got to test your environment.

and this is life.

life = confusing.

this theory is tested continuously.

continuously is hard to write.



we all owe each other something. and none of us are owed anything.

it only takes one cheater. but do you wipe out the whole town for one cheater, or do you save it but for One? the answer should be obvious. and as a result, the result is chaos. chaos.

chaos is beautiful. chaos is life. chaos is the result of One lost in a world of cheaters. and the cheaters? well, the cheaters will never get it will they?

i float above myself. i am a speck on a raft in the ocean. i am the ocean.

you are all the ocean.

i am flooded by memories. i am flooded by good feelings and bad. but everything remains in perfect balance. the trouble is staying somewhere right in the middle.

s'just plain ol' physics.

Unicorns Are Hard To Come By

ah, the joy of having no friends and having to tag along with your brother to his frat party, with your sister and to hang out with your sister all night in every spot that every person happened to want to be in at the exact moment that we were there.

did i mention i hate parties?

did i mention i'm always standing in the wrong place at a party?

did i mention i wasn't even drinking?

did i mention it is st. patty's day?

all in all, though. i had a decent time at the party. (my real st. patty's celebration, of course, is my church party tomorrow night. now there's a real party. and i know enough people there to get a pretty decent free drunk. party on party people in the lord's house! lawl)

z and i had the good fortune of being somewhat celebrities by association at this frat though... being the sisters of a pledge, and the sisters-in-law of a previous president and of course the sister of his wife, who happens to be well known by many frat boyz.

boy 1: so i was on the phone out there and i looked over and i saw you and i wanted to tell you that you have really great style and eyes like wow and bla bla bla (some more stuff)
me: oh. thanks. *awkward as per usual*
boy 1: who is this, a friend?
me: that's my sister.
boy 1: what brings you two here?
me: brother *points to w*
boy 1 *looks closely at w and turns back slowly*: you are k's sisters aren't you? and now i must be a good boy.

he proceeded to tell z that she is just like k, for reasons that i won't get into cause i didn't totally understand them.

that's what we like to call the upper cut to the jaw.

w: what are you doing?
boy 2: i am just going to hit on some cute girls. hey, you are a cute girl.
z: hi
w: that's my sister, guy.
boy 2: i didn't mean anything by it, w.

that's what we like to call the gut punch.

boy 2: i know your brother-in-law. he's a real good guy. i'll be leaving now.

and that's what we call the gut punch followed by the upper cut to the jaw. KO! so hilarious.

then of course, we have the totally random boys.

swiss boy: are you foreign?
z: no.
swiss boy: you look foreign.
z: uh, no. we're from right here.
swiss boy: you look german.
z: nope.
swiss boy: so let me guess you guys are like '86?

are you effing kidding me? i don't know how people think i look my little brother's age.

a: uh, not quite buddy. and by the way, we are not twins.
swiss boy and friend *shocked*

now, i don't see it. i really don't. ok, ten years ago i could have seen it a tad. but now i just don't see it. at. all.

then i pointed out my bro to see if they thought we looked similar, because i think we look more similar than z and i, but they didn't think so. but then they proceeded to tell me that me and the bro have the same smile and the same eyebrow movements and facial expressions....

dude. like how long had he been watching me?

and my brother?


but let me state for the record that i was expecting a lot more out of my first frat party. like in the movies... aren't they supposed to be all hot boyz. of course, sleazy for the most part. but at least nice on the eyes. z and i staked the place out playing our typical game.

random guy: who did you say was gay?
me: i said 'let's play the game'
random guy to friend: she said you were gay.
random guy's friend: i am totally not gay
z: that was a little defensive, guy, so i don't think i believe you.

back to the game. basically it's a sorting game. like the sorting ceremony at hogwarts (yeah, i'm reading them. yeah, i'm into it. yeah, whatever. judge me).

teddy bears.

yeah... so notta one unicorn. furthermore, as it turns out, z and i have wildly differing opinions on dogs and teddy bears, though there were only about two teddy bears for each of us and this was even a stretch. needless to say, there were a lot of lizards. one of them even put his effing arm around me. like where do lizards get off?

thankfully, most of the lizards kept their claws to themselves.

*keep in mind, this is just a game*

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Pooped. (Yeah, i see a lot of that these days)

i'm sorry. but i have nothing left for you. i have nothing left for me.

i am lonely. though not lonely enough to want the kids to come back after my lifetime-in-one-day at the daycare. but sleeping alone in a strange house with a strange smell in a strange neighbourhood eating alone and trying to occupy the night hours until you can finally crawl into someone else's bed with someone else's sheets and pillows and smell... it's all getting to be too much for me.

i hear the kids even after they leave. the past ten minutes, i kept having anxiety attacks that one of the kids was still here and i forgot to give them to their parents (as if their parents wouldn't notice) because i kept being sure that i could hear the kid breathing. i've figured out now it's just the dog. i don't like dogs.

you know that adorable 'why' stage that kids go through?

shoot. me. times. four.

i think i'd like kids better when they are my own. i just keep wondering where their parents went wrong and keep thinking to myself all the things i will do right.

eff. i forgot to feed the rat and the fish and mist the snake and the tarantula.

but i did watch the snake eat two mice today. i was excited to see it because i thought it would be interesting and cool.

just. gross. don't. bother.

not even slightly interesting. though he does get his jaw pri.t. big.

there's a kid sick every day. it's getting to be ridiculous. the worker guys are fixing the bathroom so there is no upstairs bathroom and no working shower (my one home night a week is my blessed shower time... i know. gross. but there's no point in showering around germy dirty kids anyway). and the workers turn off the water every day and because of the banging and the blocked off back hall, i can't let all the kids nap. plus there is no room for them anymore. i miss my blessed nap time.

don't get me wrong. i still think kids are cute and i still love them and ... who am i kidding?

no, i'm kidding. it's just been a rough couple of days with all the sickies and the more-than-usual number of children and the banging of the bathroom-fix-up.

i don't know. i'm out of words. little d took all my words today. just like he will continue doing for the rest of the month. i swear i will be mute by the end of this. if not having already shot myself.

that was a joke. it wasn't a funny joke, i know. i'm lonely and crabby, so sue me.

i haven't read any blogs all week.

Sunday, March 12, 2006


my parents don't know that i have a blog. i felt it would restrict my creativity too much if they were to be able to read it. but the radio talked to my dad about blogs the other day.

dad: what's a blog?
a: it means web log.
dad: but people can leave their comments, right?
a: right.
mom: you should get a blog, a. since you have so much to say all the time. *at which point she laughs hysterically cause she thinks she has dissed me*. why don't you get a blog?
*z and i exchange knowing glances*
z: yeah, why don't you get a blog?
w: yeah, why don't you get a blog?
mom: yeah, why don't you get a blog? *laughs again hysterically but this time everyone else joins in, though we aren't laughing for the same reason*
a: yeah, maybe i'll get a blog.

z: *in the car ride home* that was funny, eh? you should *makes typing actions* that story.
a: i was thinking the same thing.

but the story is pretty lame now that i put it on here. i didn't know how to make it any better.

i like having retarded secrets from my parents. i like pretending like my life is more rebellious than it is, to the point that i have to keep things from my parents. when i went away to school, i used to tell my mom that i was a wino and we had tons of boys over to the house every night just to get her all riled up. maybe i wanted her to think i was cool and edgy.

the things we do to pretend we are people that we aren't.

how many people are you?

z is mad cause i haven't posted in days. i've actually been home all weekend and had plenty of time, but i decided (rather my body decided for me) that i needed to sleep all day. my body was like a desert and my eyes were so dry and sore that i couldn't have them open for any length of time. my bones felt dry. my brain felt dry. i whined and whined until someone brought me water with ice. no one could understand that i wasn't being lazy, but that i was in fact just too dry to walk. like who can walk in a desert right? at least, who can walk for very long? well, imagine the desert being you. who can walk for long being a desert? there. my whining was totally justified.

this week is st. patty's week at the day care. i guess i have to learn the kids about potatoes and leprechauns and come up with some lame ass crafts to do. maybe read some stories. i am not prepared. we've got to eat potatoes every day at lunch. so mashed, chip-type thin sliced fries... so that's two days covered, but that's about all the potato recipes that i can come up with right now. i will have to get on recipezaar. and pack a bag. and plan the day. damn. i just wanted to do nothing and go to bed.

after sunday night television of course.... which i haven't seen in a month so i will be super behind.

have you seen the grass? it's peaking out behind the wet wet snow. there are no words for how i feel.

Thursday, March 9, 2006

Quotes of the Day

i don't have time for this. my back hurts. and my bed beckons. so i will leave you with a couple quotes that wrap up my day quite nicely.

big baby's older brother: i can squish and squash my penis.

grandma daycare: you are like super nanny. *with hungarian accent*

p.s. i have solved the temperature dilemna so the new closed door policy is still intact - though i still hate the policy. in fact, i was incredi-hot last night so tonight i will attempt to strike some sort of balance by doing away with my wool socks and my xtra blanket.

Wednesday, March 8, 2006

Woolen Socks and Finding Mittens

my anti-blogging friend who won't read my blog apparently now has a blog.

and i do believe he still doesn't read mine.

ah burn.

(if there is even one person who recognizes that reference, just in written form, then i have enough readers. it doesn't even matter if i only have one reader.)

there are reasons for things that i do that i don't even know why i do. but i do them. so there must have been a reason. so i must know the reason for that thing that i do that i don't even know why i do.

... there are also other reasons for the things that i do that i know and could never explain to you. and i think that to think that you know me and know all all of this that you miss, and you fail to exist in my sphere, here to here, as i'm wandering there, breathing air, breathing are, what's around, what's afar, you are near, i'm subpar, little bear, little star.

*stares off into space with goofy smile on face*

so isn't that weird about my anti-blogging friend who is still anti-blogging. kind of like undercover cops. pretending to be prostitutes and drug dealer. effing blognarc is what he is.

*virtual eff finger*

one, two, three minutes to dinner, gramma.

but imagine we actually called her gramma. frigging weird.

... but seriously, who says booya? like seriously says booya?

it's effing cold in here. i think i shut the vent in my heater the last time i rearranged my furniture. cause i think i'm paranoid. specifally? about the bed being over the vent. it was an insignificant action then. but now, with the new *closed door policy*, the temperature decrease is significant.

here is why this is a dilemna:

a) i will have to move the bed to find out if this is the problem. (problem solved if i find that the vent was never closed, in which case the temperature change cannot be attributed that that and the new closed door policy is the causal link, and then the only way i can get the temperature back to a reasonable level will be to open the door. which officially violates the new closed door policy, as its only rule is the keep the door closed. in which case, all hell breaks loose);

b) if i find that the vent is indeed closed, it is not simply a matter of opening the vent. this is simply because i am still paranoid. and since it has been closed all this time, i still know nothing about the effects of a flamatorious nature that heating vents have under beds. so i still don't know if i can open it. cold: 2, a: 0;

c) it occurs to me that if the vent is open, the new closed door policy may not be entirely at fault. it may also be the placement of the bed over the vent, thereby blocking the passage of the heat. in which case, i will have to rearrange my room to avoid violating the new open door policy. which is basically impossible for me to do as i have found the most ideal configuration for my room furnishings. cold: 3, a:0;

now, i know you are all saying, clearly it is obvious (redundant much) that the easiest solution is to violate the new closed door policy. it wouldn't require any action on my part and would save me the hassle of remembering to implement the new open door policy. open the door, you fool! save yourself the trouble! score one for team a!

but it's not so simple. in order to avoid another repeat skin crawling allergic reaction to my cats (or possibly it's just dust.......... in which case, the whole debate is a nobrainer, because the new open door policy is unnecessary if not totally unreasonable as i'd love to have the cats back in the room. i miss them) the cats have to be out of my room. the room looks pretty snazzy after de-allergification. de-histamination?

so allergy tests are in order anyway, and allergy shots.... which, i guess allergy shots are supposed to make you unallergic or something?... well, then i could just have the door open anyway. right? then i don't need the new closed door policy. i effing hate the closed door policy anyway. it's making my life hell... hardly. i am hardly home, but i am sure if i were i would have cracked like two hours after implementing it. anyways. i am away most of march anyway. so they don't need to be in here without me anyway. anyway. word's lost all meaning to me.

mug. mug. mug. mug.
parrot. parrot. parrot. parrot.

so, hopefully it's not long before we can axe the new policy. i'll be sure to send out a memo regarding the change. change-back.


what's an effing tallywack.

i find myself screaming in children voices in my head. my outward appearance remains stoic while inside i scream 'LEAVE ME ALONE!!!'




i can hear it so clearly. and i'm amazed i don't shout it out. i'm amazed that i stop myself from doing it and i don't even notice that i am trying. and i'm amazed at this same process' absence in children. and wonder where they learn it from. and how exactly they learn it. i mean, yes, i know we're pretty much always 'don't say that. don't do that. stop screaming.' but we are basically presuming that we are teaching the child, as we ourselves were so well taught and superior to children because we don't say that and don't do that and stop screaming because we wouldn't have the inclination to say it or do it or sream. but we are not teaching the child to not want to say that or do that or scream, we are teaching them to simply repress these inclinations. but they are always with us.

maybe i didn't make the difference clear. or maybe the difference isn't clear. or maybe what's the difference and who cares?

but it seems different to me, and i care. and it's weird. and it confuses me. and children confuse me and amaze me and confuse me and amaze me and confuse me and amaze me again. and i love them and hate them and love them and hate them and love them and hate them again.

i never hate them. i just couldn't think of a better word.

i am convinced that all children have one of five voices. or maybe five voices per gender. and maybe it is a different five voices depending on the language. but in general, five voices. seriously. there are a limited number of voices that the children draw upon, and other than that, if you heard a dozen no. one voices and one of them was even a child you knew, you wouldn't be able to tell what voice belonged to the child you knew. cause they were all no. one voices. then when you get older, you get your own voice. it's like a rite of passage. and then everyone has their own unique voice and it's so easy to tell other people apart even on the phone, to the point that it's almost a super power. that's pretty amazing. i hear all the same ten kids wherever i go. i could swear they've been following me around ever since i knew kids. and by child voices, i think i am limiting my definition of child to the under six range. so i guess, two or three to six since babies don't talk.


i'm not sure and my back hurts from picking up baby a million times at the museum today.

big baby hates me and is a big baby.

gotta love it.

tomorrow, i go it alone. i will post if i survive.

Tuesday, March 7, 2006


has it been forever since i blogged? well, it feels like forever... bless the children, they can make you feel like you have lived a lifetime in one day.

umm, is this a good thing or a bad thing? who knows. we'll go with Martha on this one:

it's a good thing.

it's amazing how life can change so dramatically in under ten minutes. i get dizzy thinking about how far ago ten days seems to me. TEN DAYS!!! woah. if i wasn't already sitting, i'd fall down.

man. i can't even keep up with my daily blogs. i'm just skimming through them. is this what a real life does to people? i can't read anything that's more than four or five lines. hence, my two line paragraphs.

i'm out of things to say. well, that's not exactly true. i'm out of the energy to say it with/write it with.

baby has ear infection. and i don't think he likes me... so that'll make for a loooong month.

bigger baby is staying late at the circus tonight, so he'll be incredi-tired tomorrow... so that's make for a loooong day.

two late night meetings, and one more to go on thursday.... so that'll make for a loooooong week.

i. am. tired.

i could use a dreamless sleep tonight.

Monday, March 6, 2006

Get Me Out Of Here

i try to crawl outside my skin
but i'm still here
i'm still here

i try to claw at my own skin
but nothing works

i'm going crazy inside here
or so i fear
so i fear

i try from the inside out
but nothing works

Saturday, March 4, 2006

Dedication: Irving

The votes have been counted. The contest is over. The scores are in.

John. Irving. Is. My. Favourite. Author.

Hands down. No questions asked. Without a doubt. Stick a fork in me. Three sheets to the wind. Don't count your chickens. Can't judge a book...?

So from now on, my response to the question will be unswerving.

Who is your favourite author?
John Irving. *robot like response, eyes straight forward, no lag time*

(that's what unswerving looks like to me)

His unnending, yet rivetting attention to detail brings you directly onto the page, living it. Though yes, you may often find yourself thinking 'where is this going? i can't imagine him being able to tell this story for five hundred more pages'. And yet through it, you don't even think of giving up on the book. Irving is forgiven in a way that i do not always forgive authors. In fact, he is celebrated throughout.

Then suddenly, did you hear that?

'like a dress trying to slide off the coat hanger' -irving.

No. It was more like a click. The kind you hear when you get to the top of the rollercoaster, just before you start your descent.

You can feel is now. Gaining momentum. And you can foresee all these things that he's had in store all along. But no, not all. Suddenly minor details from the past pages seem strikingly poignant and you realize now that he's been giving it away all along, and once again, you wonder how could i have not seen this coming? how could i have been so blind? but you laugh because it was all so clever, and you laugh because you can't help it and you don't know why. Maybe not so much laughing, as a little ball of emotion bubbling up to your lips and pushing its way out. The result of such a thing happening, of course, happens to be the production of a noise, often barely audible and rarely similar to any bubble escape in the past. No, not laughs, at all. Spontaneous emotion bubble escapes. They happen mostly when you are alone.

The second half of the book happens so fast that you cannot believe it. If reading were breathing, you would be gasping for air repeatedly. The once celebrated first half of the book has now come to be revered as genious and intricate and masterful.

(once i read A Prayer For Owen Meanie and i didn't make it past the first hundred pages. i didn't get it back then. i didn't know.)

Most of what draws me in most likely remains unconscious. Probably in the beginning, all of what i love about Irving was unknown to me. Obviously, the sheer number of Irving novels that i have read has improved my recognition of those similarities that keep me coming back and being able to anticipate certain things also helps. And of course, the unconscious statistical processes going on in all our minds takes in other books i read and factors in all the things i don't like to further reinforce those things about Irving that i do like. It's an awesome process that's happening inside our heads at all times. And now I am able to say that my favourite author is John Irving and know that i have often responded to the favourite author question with a number of limited responses, including Irving and combinations including Irving but not always, and that while i may have been right at times, i never truly knew what the answer to that question was, and that now i know i know. It's amazing just how out of touch we are with our own selves - our likes our dislikes and the reasons why we do anything - while at the same time being so in touch with our own selves to know that when we know we know, we know.

Isn't that incredible?

Disclaimer: this response may not always be accurate, as i read more authors and discover more of what i like about writers. But it is true now, and you can be sure that i will have a warm place for Irving in my heart for the rest of my life.

Another thing i love about reading multiple books by the same author, is that you can learn so much about their lives. In psychological institutions, patients or subjects or what-have-you, are often asked to make up stories and the psychologist is able to learn many things about them that they may never have told of their own accord, in fact, they don't even know they are telling now. Often these stories are guided and prompted because the psychologist is looking for personal information relating to certain areas of the psyche, and more often because this allows for more definable and verifiable experimental measures. Dreams are considered along with story-telling as a highly informative view of a person's inner experience, even if it is not obvious to the dreamer. It is unfortunate that dreams are not easiliy remembered and that that scope of your unconstrained imagination makes analysis more difficult. You can imagine, then, that unrestricted stories can express much of the unconscious and is more accesible to the uneducated person-analyst than dreams are. Though i suppose that if you were privy to the continued dream life of one person, your mind would very naturally begin to assimilate the information, highlighting themes and recurrences, to give you a very good picture of that individual, albeit perhaps unconsciously.

Obviously John Irving went to Exeter - i'd know this even if i hadn't read his quasi-autobiography - and spent some time in Germany. He has insecurities of himself as a writer, but he is a very natural story teller (he has a gift for story-within-story). Physically smallish. And i think he was called Johnnie, and hoped that one day people would call him John.... Though this is just the tip of the iceberg.

See? Reading is fun. Everyone should read. Everything you can get your hands on. Throw away your television.

The only chance we have at saving the world is through art.

** Very honourable mention goes to Kurt Vonnegut. Very very honourable. It should be noted that if i were to choose among the men, if i were to be asked 'which one would you like to meet?' i would go with Vonnegut. Though i doubt i could explain my answer to that question, cause even i am not entirely sure why.**

Thursday, March 2, 2006

Day One.

Yum. Watermelon chunked vomit.

Welcome to the land of children.

diapers, legos, snacks, spills, snowsuits, bickering, crankiness, naps, playpens, dance revolution, boogers, tears, time-outs, temper tantrums, soothers, circle time, kiddie songs, cartoons, mega machines...

and then one little smile, or hug and everything nasty melts away, your whole body becomes warm and fuzzy and you can't stop smiling.

this is why people keep having children. cause it it were up to the watermelon chunked vomit, we would have died off hundreds of years ago.

It has been an interesting day. Lots of new things to take in: who gets what colour cups, who uses what toothbrush, who sleeps where, who likes to be tickled where, who comes in when, who belongs to which cubbie, who likes chocolate milk..... and so on.

who's boots are these?

And to really get me into the swing of things, two of the children were sick. Runny noses, fevers, and the ever popular vomit.

vomit, barf, throwup... does anyone have a better word for it? cause i just can't come up with one that i like to use.

kids: grooooossssss, he just booted again. i lost my appetite.
me: can i have another helping, please.

i like the word booted, but i'm still looking for a useable noun in this category. (Any suggestions, please leave comments)

I would love to tell you how fascinating it was to watch the snake eat a mouse, but the damn snake wasn't up for mouse today, and so it just sat there untouched in the cage.

Dog is soooo large, and love diapers. ew.

Tarantula and fish and old rat are pretty uneventful.

Cat is super handsome and, like most cats i come into contact with, loves me. And of course, being the crazy cat lady that i am, i also adore the cat.

Last but not least. the most important point of the day:



Something old, Something New

bruder is back home and doing fine. he will have to go back for an MRI sometime soon. his head injury was worse than we thought and so he must stay low key for the next little while until we figure this all out.

it was a scary night.

it's too early to be here. it's too early to leave the house. but i must.

and it looks like i'll have to do it again and again and again...

the day will be filled with children and snacks and playdough and ridiculously juvenile television and diapers and time-outs and games.

and a dog and a cat and a snake and a rat and a fish and a tarantula.

... and so, not to forget my allergy pills.

this will be march.

i had bad dreams last night. anxiety dreams. late projects and missing birthdays and breakups and angry family members... i always have these dreams when i have to wake up early and do something new. but it will be fine, right? i can do anything, right?


ok, gotta leave soon and still have to get dressed. what does one wear in this kind of environment?

i have no idea what to expect.

yeah, i guess you don't get a lot of cars driving through your room.

Wednesday, March 1, 2006

The Continuation

i should trust my instincts more often. i knew this wasn't over.

i'll be at the hospital again, if anyone's wondering.