Unfinished business

Standard

01/21/08: As heard over the subway intercom system: “I would like to remind passengers that walking between the cars is not permitted… especially for guys in blue hats.”

01/22/08: Things not to do when you have just had your nails coated with acrylic to prevent them from breaking – peeling an orange in the middle of Italian class.

01/23/08: When i woke up this morning, i was not expecting to spend two hours of my afternoon talking to a bona fide symphony conductor… but i did. And now i have ANOTHER date for Sunday.

The stories we tell

Standard

As the only female blood-relative my grandmother had, i inherited all over her extensive jewellery collection. This was something both she and i relished for years. We would pick over the contents of her boxes and cases talking about when and where pretty, sparkling things were procured and on what occasions they were worn. We rarely focused on the prices of items… so i realize now that i have no idea which of the pieces should be deposited in safety deposit boxes to be protected from my incessant mislocating of important items and which can be safely worn with only sentimental value on the line.

My mother was particularly interested in a hematite, turquoise and coral pendant which i promptly told her to keep. My grandfather gave it to my grandmother on one of their only trips off the continent – to Jamaica. My Grammy was particularly fond of this sort of arrangement and i demonstrated the point by showing my Mom the number of items my grandmother had given her over the years that resembled it in cut and setting.

Sitting on my mother’s bed pouring over her collection of both inexpensive and expensive accumulated pieces from different relatives and friends i realize the true value of items like jewellery… the stories they represent.

Only my inexpensive jewellery is still at my home in Blainville. That and the collection of earrings to which i only have one of the pair and that i am ever saying i will convert into pendants.

My New Year’s Resolution is to not be cheap this month and get these items appraised, rings re-sized and earrings converted so that i can wear these memories on my person in the same way i showcase the photographs of voyages and big events.

My favourite almost-forgotten story of the week revolves around a gold, enamel inlay timepiece my Grammy wore around her neck when i was a little girl. I would sit on her lap, before i could read an analog clock, and like any small child was fascinated with lockets, boxes and any items with hinges. i would ask over and over again what time it was… and the answer was always conferred to me after much pensive deliberation: “Half-past kissing time, time to kiss again!” amongst a flurry of kisses. My Mom says that her own grandmother (fifteen years the senior of mine) would do the same to her when she was a little girl.

and the dramatic visions of suicide return with a vengeance

Standard

this past week has been hell. and when i say hell, it may, in fact, be up there in the top 5 bad weeks of my life. it is supposedly over and i am not going to complain about it anymore than i already have to anyone within hearing range.

i will, rather, detail where i am at right now for anyone who might be worried. the pneumonia seems to be getting better. i am having fewer coughing fits, however, they are actually more intense. i took a box to the cracked rib yesterday when helping Mark move in the stove/oven that the film crew did not move back into our house. I need to go grocery shopping because a large portion of the food i had intended to consume this week-end disappeared during the shoot. The floors will still all need to be washed after the fridges are switched. It snowed here last night, so this is going to be fun…ugh. i have two papers to write, neither of which are started and both are due ASAP. I only have a Latin quiz tomorrow morning and translations to do.

I hadn’t felt this … unconnected and ineffective … in a while. My reaction to these situations is not the best it could be (as the title explains). I am trying to get back on track. Not focus on all the other moments that have made me feel like this. Not focus on past failures. It’s hard. I’ve spent the better part of the week trying to sleep, but not being able to because of a combination of noise in the house, anger, pain and coughing. Lying in bed long enough i start to replay some of the favourite moments of my life… unfortunately, when already upset i lack the ability to get anything but sadness out of them.

Breathe deep… oh wait, fuck, that hurts. Breathe shallow…

Is this what being an adult means?

Standard

I finished A Wrinkle in Time on Sunday night. You wouldn’t expect from my previous post about how Children’s Literature is a secret passion that it would have inspired a brief bout of pseudo-Depression, but it did.

A Wrinkle in Time is great – please don’t get me wrong. It’s a child’s version of (i.e. deals with the same themes as) such science fiction classics as A Brave New World and 1984. It’s a celebration of the values of creativity and autonomy that Western culture, at least ostensibly, seeks to foster in its children. It’s funny. It’s sweet. It’s plot-driven (something Tunku Varadarajan argues in “Generation Hex: A first-time reader of the ‘Potter’ books searches for meaning in the final volume,” Wall Street Journal, July 28, 2007, is the key both the success and greatness of Harry Potter). However, i find myself rolling my eyes into the back of my head and giving a cold shudder whenever “the power of love” saves the day. I had this reaction to Potter too.

Is being adult being so jaded that you can’t even appreciate the warm, fuzziness of children’s narrative even when you appreciate the form and its conventions? Or has my relationship history ruined one of my favourite pastimes?

The therapist would not give me an answer on this one…

Like a headache from over-exhaustion in the back of your eyes

Standard

“Know that i will miss you with every beat of my heart. I love you. I always will.”

I don’t know if it’s a good or a bad thing when someone else articulates a feeling you’ve been aching to describe. It’s not like being able to describe it relieves the pain, nor would i want it to.

That’s my 2 minutes of complaining for this hour. The no-complaining zone has been reinstated. Fines will be levied.

On second thought… i think a good cry would help. It can’t hurt.

Long-lost friends regained and upcoming milestones

Standard

Perhaps one of the best feelings of this past year has been re-establishing old friendships – discovering after years of sporadic contact that you still have much in common with a loved one and that there is a whole cornicopia of new, wonderful stuff to share.
the best thing i’ve got going right now is likely the best friend status – yeah to friendships begun in kindergarten, strengthened in grade 5 and ebbing by grade 11 to be resurrected in grad school.
i’ve also found anew my first boyfriend, my first new friend from high school and my first boss to be younger than me.
I hate people. I love individuals.

I am rapidly approaching my 500th post. Reaching number 500 seems to signify something… like that i should invest in web-hosting and relocate again, for good. That i should develop my own lay-out. That i should start an honest-to-goodness food blog. all of the above. none of the above. any suggestions?

The highlight of today was simple: i was dragging a cart filled with groceries across a busy intersection when a freshly washed white car stopped completed within and surpassing the crosswalk. i yelled at the woman driver. she made a face at me… i proceeded to life my foot and pretend to kick her car screaming that “it’s a motherfucking crosswalk bitch!” she backed up (because there was no one behind her).

Have i mentioned that i hate people?

Pro-activity

Standard

Yes. Yesterday i embarked upon a new path for salvation… err… redemption… err… whatever.

The experience necessitates a round of thank-yous.
Thank you Captain Obvious for pointing out that my relationship to food is ‘problematic.’
Thank you Captain Obvious for pointing out that my grief has not been worked through.
Thank you Captain Obvious for pointing out that my usual coping mechanisms are unable to deal with the new developments.

Thank you Captain Obvious for being… well, obvious.