Mar. 30th, 2008

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I was going to go out again and go dancing but instead Anthony came over and the hailstorm of the apocalypse made its way up to my house. White was singing down out of the sky, with hailstones bouncing down the chimney, so I did the only thing I could think of: I lit a fire in the fireplace, pulled the mattress up in front of it, and turned out all the lights. Fell asleep snuggling and trading massages till he woke to go home. Much nicer than going outside in this slushy white mess that's sitting around.

Snuggling makes me so happy, and it's amazing to me how, if I don't put the sex energy into something, it doesn't come out at me. I mean, I used to be received that way by everyone but it seems that's because it was what I was putting out. It was the way I was approached because that's how I approached everyone. Now? People can be just friends-- it's not like I'm sitting here fighting the tide to try and turn things into a different channel. Who knew? I mean, seriously, who knew?

I'm so glad to be getting physical contact again. I missed it and it is good for me. Thanks, all y'all. You know who you are.

Still zero interest in sex with anyone available to me but not minding it any.

Paul says there were a bunch of people having crises tonight. I was so not one of them, nor was I hanging out with any of them. It was all peace here. What a treat!

...though man am I hungry, and I don't feel like sloshing out for pho right now somehow. Oh well. Ice cream and patience.
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To shake off a case of morning waking-up-before-anyone-else-and-it's-lonely blues, I started looking around at arborist certification career paths and from thence ended up at the BC agricultural labour pool which is notable, among other things, for having jobs like "mink catcher" and "artificial insemination centre jobs". It's not helpful for what I'm looking for (that seems more like a yellow-pages dealie, alas, or I guess I could look in the trade publication (if you're interested in a career change, subscribe to the damn trade publication for the new job asap, it's fun and useful)) but damn, it's nice to know there's a place those jobs are advertised.

(I could totally go to St Louis, MO, in July for the international tree climbing championships. I'm sure they have smaller ones around here, too, come to think of it. Let's research: Ah, shows the regionals in New West, July 12th. In fact, pacific northwest chapter isa website is pretty damn useful too.

(There are also some
couple-day courses I may want to look into)

Z0MG, I almost forgot the phytoremediation lecture coming up! I really need to be more involved with the UBC botanical garden-- wish I'd started there instead of VanDusen all those years ago. As a start I should run down and become a member, and wander around a bit too.

There, that feels nice. I'm almost settled into this job, so it's important to keep the next steps on the horizon and to keep edging towards them; elsewise it's just stagnation.



Agroecology at UBC is a more academic route that could land me in the same place, as could the forestry program there, but while I've wanted to learn a lot of this stuff I'm not sure I can do the full-on academic thing without getting my hands dirty that it requires. This stuff is smaller steps at a time, and exciting therefore.
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The poem goes:

Grace

I think of Wind and her wild ways the year we had nothing to lose and lost it anyway in the cursed country of the fox. We still talk about that winter, how the cold froze imaginary buffalo on the stuffed horizon of snowbanks. The haunting voices of the starved and mutilated broke fences, crashed our thermostat dreams, and we couldn't stand it one more time. So once again we lost a winter in stubborn memory, walked through cheap apartment walls, skated through fields of ghosts into a town that never wanted us, in the epic search for grace.

Like Coyote, like Rabbit, we could not contain our terror and clowned our way through a season of false midnights. We had to swallow that town with laughter, so it would go down easy as honey. And one morning as the sun struggled to break ice, and our dreams had found us with coffee and pancakes in a truck stop along Highway 80, we found grace.

I could say grace was a woman with time on her hands, or a white buffalo escaped from memory. But in that dingy light it was a promise of balance. We once again understood the talk of animals, and spring was lean and hungry with the hope of children and corn.

I would like to say, with grace, we picked ourselves up and walked into the spring thaw. We didn't; the next season was worse. You went home to Leech Lake to work with the tribe and I went south. And, Wind, I am still crazy. I know there is something larger than the memory of a dispossessed people. We have seen it.

by Joy Harjo

Italics are pertinent.

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