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greenstormThis is the night when everyone goes out to Halloween parties. I worked today because the weather, she commands me from now until the real rains set in. I work the days she gives me, and if I'm lucky I'll have rent and maybe bills saved up till February. If not, I guess I worry about work during the winter a little more.
I'm home. I'm in my house, which has carpets almost everywhere (but not the stairs, which still have sharp nails sticking up through them, though I'm expert at avoiding those right now in bare or socked feet). I'm listening to counting crows. The thermostat is set to hold at twenty degrees, though I'm thinking of turning it up. The tub has cleaner on it, it's soaking. This will be the second time I've cleaned the bathroom since we moved in. It's pretty dirty - we were doing dishes in, a bucket in there for awhile, but I think the boys got more organics than I'm comfortable in it rather than into the bucket. Then again, there have been four people showering in there mostly.
The kitchen is still all boxes. I'm tired, and I'm a bit of a mess emotionally. Last night I slept beside Angus and he shivered all night, and whimpered a little bit. All this time working outside means my body is good at adjusting its heat output, so I haven't shivered in awhile, but it still felt like he was channelling my mood. When I went to make dinner here at home I banged my head into the stove hood while trying to avoid boxes. Last night, when I got home from work plus the commute, I was so tired that I went almost immediately to bed and the only thing I could do to hold back raving black paranoid bitterness was to keep my mouth closed.
I dreamed that Paul was waiting for me at a Tim Hortons and they kept sending me to the next counter down, around and around in a circle, as I tried to order a doughnut. All night.
Tomorrow's a day off and I'm not sure what to do with it, but I think I want to garden. Nothing I brought from Juggler's place is in the ground (or pots) yet.
I don't know what to say. I just burnt my toast because I was making it under the broiler (no toaster till tonight) and I was writing this. I have no attention span for cooking, though I can do other things on a back-and-forth way.
I'm in a black mood still. I love my work. I love-- I don't know, I love things, but I'm still in such a dark black mood. My mind breathes of despair and hopelessness every moment that I'm not actively thinking about something else, or outdoors. I think I'm lonely, or at least unaccustomed to solitude. Bob is in the other room; he's sick, and snuggled up in blankets and clothes, and I guess I'm a little afraid of him. I guess I've been here before.
It's fall. It's time for things to die. All day at work I cut back plants, slash them back to the ground and pick up the falling leaves and occasionally tuck little pieces of life into the soil to come back in the spring as tulips and crocuses and daffodils. It's time to shed, time to sleep, time to conserve and hoard and wait.
You know why I write at times like this? I write because my own voice, here, means that I'm not sitting alone with the music. It means there's a voice in the room, even if it's my own.
There's a coffee shop at Sixteenth and Granville (by Angus and Granville, where I worked today) that makes a proper hot lemon and honey, with actual lemon and actual honey. There are leaves piling up in my garden. I am very much in love. My life is full of people who love me, there's food in the fridge, there'll be money in the bank real quick now, I own lovely things and warm clothes. Just this second I'm so hollow I rattle, though I should be grateful. Maybe some time spent in the bath floating in salt water will warm up my insides a little.
Maybe having rats to snuggle, rats who love me unconditionally, will do the trick. I miss them an awful lot. The house feels empty without them now that it's starting to be house-shaped.
And maybe I just need to wait a little, wait for thanksgiving, burn up some of my past on pieces of paper in the fireplace when the house is full of food and people so I can just -let go-.
And maybe this feeling is just one of those human-condition feelings, maybe it's just a bit of burnout and a bit of tired and a bit of letdown speaking, and maybe it's one of those things I'll get used to coming up again and again and again in-between the shiny moments.
Maybe. But I need to go scrub the tub out right now, and make some unburnt toast, and then I'll get more calories into me and soak in the tub and work on this dark thing in my head.
I'm home. I'm in my house, which has carpets almost everywhere (but not the stairs, which still have sharp nails sticking up through them, though I'm expert at avoiding those right now in bare or socked feet). I'm listening to counting crows. The thermostat is set to hold at twenty degrees, though I'm thinking of turning it up. The tub has cleaner on it, it's soaking. This will be the second time I've cleaned the bathroom since we moved in. It's pretty dirty - we were doing dishes in, a bucket in there for awhile, but I think the boys got more organics than I'm comfortable in it rather than into the bucket. Then again, there have been four people showering in there mostly.
The kitchen is still all boxes. I'm tired, and I'm a bit of a mess emotionally. Last night I slept beside Angus and he shivered all night, and whimpered a little bit. All this time working outside means my body is good at adjusting its heat output, so I haven't shivered in awhile, but it still felt like he was channelling my mood. When I went to make dinner here at home I banged my head into the stove hood while trying to avoid boxes. Last night, when I got home from work plus the commute, I was so tired that I went almost immediately to bed and the only thing I could do to hold back raving black paranoid bitterness was to keep my mouth closed.
I dreamed that Paul was waiting for me at a Tim Hortons and they kept sending me to the next counter down, around and around in a circle, as I tried to order a doughnut. All night.
Tomorrow's a day off and I'm not sure what to do with it, but I think I want to garden. Nothing I brought from Juggler's place is in the ground (or pots) yet.
I don't know what to say. I just burnt my toast because I was making it under the broiler (no toaster till tonight) and I was writing this. I have no attention span for cooking, though I can do other things on a back-and-forth way.
I'm in a black mood still. I love my work. I love-- I don't know, I love things, but I'm still in such a dark black mood. My mind breathes of despair and hopelessness every moment that I'm not actively thinking about something else, or outdoors. I think I'm lonely, or at least unaccustomed to solitude. Bob is in the other room; he's sick, and snuggled up in blankets and clothes, and I guess I'm a little afraid of him. I guess I've been here before.
It's fall. It's time for things to die. All day at work I cut back plants, slash them back to the ground and pick up the falling leaves and occasionally tuck little pieces of life into the soil to come back in the spring as tulips and crocuses and daffodils. It's time to shed, time to sleep, time to conserve and hoard and wait.
You know why I write at times like this? I write because my own voice, here, means that I'm not sitting alone with the music. It means there's a voice in the room, even if it's my own.
There's a coffee shop at Sixteenth and Granville (by Angus and Granville, where I worked today) that makes a proper hot lemon and honey, with actual lemon and actual honey. There are leaves piling up in my garden. I am very much in love. My life is full of people who love me, there's food in the fridge, there'll be money in the bank real quick now, I own lovely things and warm clothes. Just this second I'm so hollow I rattle, though I should be grateful. Maybe some time spent in the bath floating in salt water will warm up my insides a little.
Maybe having rats to snuggle, rats who love me unconditionally, will do the trick. I miss them an awful lot. The house feels empty without them now that it's starting to be house-shaped.
And maybe I just need to wait a little, wait for thanksgiving, burn up some of my past on pieces of paper in the fireplace when the house is full of food and people so I can just -let go-.
And maybe this feeling is just one of those human-condition feelings, maybe it's just a bit of burnout and a bit of tired and a bit of letdown speaking, and maybe it's one of those things I'll get used to coming up again and again and again in-between the shiny moments.
Maybe. But I need to go scrub the tub out right now, and make some unburnt toast, and then I'll get more calories into me and soak in the tub and work on this dark thing in my head.
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Date: 2007-10-29 03:56 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-10-29 04:03 pm (UTC)