The Commitment Continues

Write Brain Day 142, continue the conversation

Me: And the explosion was so, so, I don't know, just so loud.  But more than loud.

You: Well, yeah, it was an explosion.  What did you expect?  A 'puff'?

Me:  No, its just I've never heard one in person and it was just so loud. 

You: Like you couldn't hear anything else?

Me: Yeah, exactly!

You: Well, anyway, what happened with Manuel?  Did he leave or did he decide to stick it out?

Me: What?

You: Manuel.  Remember you said that he was trying to decide whether he wanted to stay at the restaurant or go out on his own...that's how this conversation started.

Me: Oh, right.  I completely forgot about that.  No, he is still on the fence.

You: Now, that's funny!  On the fence...

Me: Ha, yeah, really funny.  We're still together you know.

You: Oh, right sorry.  Anyway, so what's he waiting for?  Is he afraid of going out on his own, or what?

Me: Honestly, I think his dad has scared the shit out of him.  He lost his business and so Manuel thinks he'd lose his.  But I don't even care about that right now.  I'm more concerned with what I found when I snooped in his phone.

You:  You what?!  You snooped in his phone?  Are you nuts?  Look what happened last time!

Me: I know, I know.  Its just, you know, I'm so suspicious all the time.

You:  But nothing will come of it, except that you will end up hurting both of you.

Me: I know, I know.  But wait til you tell you what I found.

You:  I don't want to know.  You put me in the middle last time and Manuel wouldn't speak to me for months.

Me:  But it was about you.

You: Oh.

Me:  Do you want to know now?

You: No.

Me: Fine.

Character Sketches

I was going to talk about character sketches and how much I don't enjoy them...they are boring but necessary.  I've never really enjoyed doing them, especially as so much of the content is useless, like hair colour, and pets.

But then I decided that it would be far more fun to actually write a character sketch encompassing some of the least desirable people that I encounter in the day.

I work in a high school office as the budget and computer secretary and it is tedious and boring.  I've finally mastered the job (accounting was never a strong point with me), but having mastered a skill does not make that skill any more exciting.  Accounting deserves its reputation.  And computer secretary?  Don't get me started. 

So, one of my least favourite students are the lazy girls.  These are grade ten or eleven girls who can't manage to get to class before 9:30 (school starts at 8:35), but not because they are tired from working a part-time job late into the night and tend to sleep in.  They are late because they have yet to calculate the amount of time it actually takes them to straighten their hair extensions and apply their makeup.  This is a daily routine, so you think it would occur to them to rise an hour earlier than normal, but why would they do that?  Their alarm clock would probably just end up waking their parents from their welfar-induced slumber anyway.  These girls look fabulous, you know, if you really like badly dyed hair, overdone makeup and cool, read 'aloof', mannerisms.  Wait, I didn't mean fabulous, I meant boring and stunned.

Often, these girls will come to use about a month into the semester to ask for class supplies and when asked whose class they are in, they have to think about it!  Really?  You don't know the name of the teacher whose class you have JUST COME FROM!?

What is the world coming to?

Have to Make a Committment

I am ready to commit.  I am ready to make a steady diet of writing.  A few years ago, when I was on maternity leave, I was writing everyday, sometimes for most of the daylight hours.  I had joined an online 'magazine' that featured daily articles, to which I was contributing on a regular basis.  I also had joined an online critiquing community to which I submitted some of my personal writing: short stories, chapters of longer pieces, poetry, ideas for children literature.  My days were spent writing, editing, critiquing other's writing and just generally living the life of the writer that I know I want to be.

Eventually, though, came the day when I had to return to regular full-time work outside of the house and the bottom fell through.  I was left tired at the end of the day, and exhausted by the week's end. As much as I have wanted to get back into that regular swing of writing, it has been nearly impossible.  Whenever I think, "Well, I have a great deal of down time at work, and I am just sitting at the computer", I try to get to writing, but to no avail.  Either I am repeatedly interrupted, or I draw a horrible blank.  Without the daily exercise of actually writing, I feel the stiffness of creativity.  Much like physical exercise, when you get away from a routine, its harder to jump back in.

So, here I am jumping.  I commit to getting back on the treadmill and walking a few blocks every day...no matter how stiff, no matter what the weather is like, no matter the conditions of the sidewalk.  I will walk and I will walk and I will change my own life.

Not quite forever

Its been a considerable amount of time, since I last wrote, but since I am clearly and definitely not going to start loving my job anymore, I might as well risk losing it by writing while I'm at work.  Maybe I should rename this blog "A Very-Expensive-For-Taxpayers Half-Hour".

Regardless, I feel the need to write and have no other outlet.  Is a blog a good enough outlet for someone who just wants to type away and get the thoughts out of her head?  I guess it better be, but I would really rather be writing as a journalist.  Be that as it may, I am writing a blog and that's that.

Feel the Freedom

The green scent of grass, the turquoise beam of sun-filled sky on my face, the warm, heavy, muggy breeze blowing across my cheeks.  I feel my thighs growing stronger with every pump.  The hum of pavement friction meeting the white-walled tires.  My hair is too short and hampered by helmet to flow behind me and the second-hand trailer limits my speed (despite the calls of "Faster, Mom, faster!" behind me), but I feel like the most liberated woman on the planet.

She is the best Mother's Day present EVAR!  This is "Diana":

And after much searching on kijiji I finally found a trailer.  Lumpy, a guy who runs a used bike shop out of his home here in Peterborough, didn't have a trailer, but his buddy, Charlie/Butch, said he might be able to get one.  After going to the Gilmour Street yard sale, I called Butch and he told me that his sister, Kareen, had one.  I called Kareen, and she did have one...instead of having to pay upwards of $100 for a used trailer, she said that I could HAVE IT, if I came to pick it up.  It was filthy (it had been sitting behind their shed for a season or two), but after a scrub, some Vim and a rinse, it looks fantastic.

Don't mind the maple keys that had fallen into it...this is "Prince":

Together, they are the secret identity of Wonder Woman!

Not quite a lasso and wrist bands and tiara, but she does have some accesories...her bell and her basket.

I am queer and proud of it!

Hair

Three years ago (after the birth of my son) I donated my hair to Pantene Beautiful Lengths.  I'm doing it again this year, but just wanted to show off the pictures from last time.

Enjoy...

My beautiful flowers.

  

When there isn't anyting else to say...

I feel the need to just post pics:

 Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Seriously, I don't think it gets much better than that!
You can really get a sense of the height of the hat in this one...

Old Hallowe'en Fun

Around 1984!

Chad & I as a werewolf & a bottle of Labatt's!

Can you spot the nesting mama?

k.d. lang is still wonderful

On a group that I belong to in Ravelry, there was discussion about k.d. lang and how she is a great 'butch' role model. One of the members mentioned that she has been seen in a skirt, but could find photos.

I found some. Although the one I really wanted to post (her wedding dress acceptance of her first Juno award) was protected. It can be found here.

However...

i have come to the end of my work year (slash 'school year') and am so excited to get my summer started. Not only will I have the freedom to play my days by ear, but I'll also have some free time, er, naptime, to blog. I've missed this so these last few months. Every weekend I feel that the precious moments I get while my wee one sleeps are best spent doing the things I can't get done with him awake. But now that I will have a couple of free hours EVERY day, I will feel no guilt in typing away for a little while, if only to feel vindicated at having been denied this during my work hours.

Don't get me wrong. I realize why it is best that the school board not pay me wages to sit and blog and write and express and feel. But I fail to see how it is better to be paid to just sit. My lack of blogging does not more work create.

Regardless, I will be writing more, photographing more, knitting more, blogging more. Just simply doing more.

And I can't wait to get started!

Write Brain #51

Once upon a Time - Ah! The classic opener! Finish the story. Start with: Once upon a time...

Once upon a time, there was a girl who dreamed that she would someday die. In the dream, she lived her life in a very ordinary way; she went to school, she had hobbies, friends came and went, boyfriends broke her heart and she broke some herself. In the dream, she eventually fell in love with a man that was good to her and they had some children together. The children grew up and the girl, now a woman, worried about them a lot, taught them a little and then let them go out into the world themselves. The woman and her husband did lots of things together; they ate, watched movies, took walks, went on vacation and sometimes fought. The woman and her husband sometimes did things without each other; he went fishing, she would go to the library; she went for coffee with friends, he would order pizza with his dad. In the dream, the woman and her husband got very old and one day he died. The woman was very lonely, at first, but eventually she realized that her husband was still a part of her and that she should be happy. In the dream, she made more friends and sometimes the friends were men. In the dream, the woman began to think back about her life, her childhood, her children, her husband and growing old. In the dream, she realized that she had lived a good life. And then she died.
When the girl woke up, she was very happy. And she knew that she would always be that way.
Once upon a time.

Fourth Annual Bloggers Silent Poetry Reading

Post your favourite poem (your own or someone else's)

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
-Mary Elizabeth Frye (disputed, but generaly confirmed)

Write Brain #110, Next Step

Take the Next Step - Very often in writing it is difficult to find a common thread to tie all th epieces together. Find three threads to turn these six paragraphs into one piece of writing. Dig beneath the obvious.

The circles of self and others overlap in a place that demonstrates what kind of person you are. How you handle situations, what you expect of yourself, what you accept from others, it is all defined by how these circles overlap in your life.

In my childhood I was so incredibly independent. I was a “I’ll do it myself” kind of kid and it served me well. No matter what other kids threw at me, I never allowed my resolve to falter. Name calling was like water off my back. Conformity became my enemy. From balancing my skills and abilities with those of my baseball team, from deciding that maintaining my self-respect was worth exactly the same as maintaining a friendship, to standing up to a bully on behalf of my wonderful brother, all these moments were about sometimes doing what wasn’t expected.

This independence, though, was not limited to the big decision moments. Little moments, like deciding to wear a homemade Labatt’s Blue costume when all, and I mean ‘all’, of my friends were dressing up as cheerleaders, or climbing aboard the back of my uncle’s motorcycle, if even for a short distance, despite everything in me wanting to walk instead. These moments would define my independence during my most formative years.

And it was this constant independence, cultivated during major and minor moments alike, that has led me to be the woman I am today. They led me to choose whether or not to share the toke being passed, or whether or not to take my first sip of sake and bite of sushi, or whether or not to continue to fall in love with a man that came with the luxurious luggage of two kids and one psychotic ex-wife.

These are the moments when the circles of self and the circles of others overlap and you must decide what kind of woman you are.