Text messaging is the devil’s agent.

It’s so easy. A few quick flicks of the thumb, and I’ve tossed my heart out into the ether again. Perhaps a ‘delete’ is in order, to spare me the ridiculousness of it all.
This is a hard one. Which, to me only serves to illustrate the fact that I’ve made the right decision, but on nights like this, when I am home early and trying to think of creative ways to stay warm, it’s very difficult to be strong.
Although it’s rather presumptuous of me to think my texting would be answered with a positive…

I can’t shake this funk. My days are spent in a fog, and I want to either curl up and sleep them away, or soak them away in a hot bath. I know it’s a cumulative funk. It’s not just from one source. It’s been building over many months of what now feels like recklessness on my part.

I’ve never run away before. I’ve always run headlong into these things, against all reason sometimes, and stuck it out to “just see”. Always. If it felt good, I felt no need to quit. But first there was the special, secret friend who wasn’t always so secret, who I flat out said no to because I knew I would fall too hard. That became a clear and wise decision very quickly. Then there was this last…so much of it made sense that it was almost impossible to hear the alarm bells, but they were there. This one hurts me.

I said “pause”. I feel like it was the wrong term. I don’t have enough faith for “pause”.

Maybe if I was someone else, if I hadn’t been through so much pain so very recently, I could have chilled out enough to just coast through the unknown and see what happens. As it stands, now I have retreated deep into this attic, and I’m buried under piles of quilts. I’ve stored enough nuts up here to last me well into the spring, so I intend to hide out from the elements until the weather gets better. It would be cozier with two, but despite all of this space, nobody else seems to fit.

Winter makes cowards of us all.

Cloudy, With A Chance of Showers

October 26th List.

Today would have been my six year wedding anniversary. The following list is only partially related to that fact.

What I Need, Today:

Something pretty, and very, very feminine to wear.
Rain boots for proper grounding.
French toast with sausage
To be surrounded by strangers, while I listen to my ipod
My journal
A good hair day
My pretty umbrella
The motivation to clean up in The Fortress
Lots of affection from Toulouse (already in progress)
Some time to read a novel and forget who and where I am
A lively, productive rehearsal
To laugh. A lot.
Hope. (an extra dose. with a side order of faith, which I hear is hard to get at this time of year.)
The lump in my throat to dissolve
Probably some tissue
Fresh sheets and pillow cases
A steaming mug of Nuit Calme
Perhaps another bath
A good night’s sleep
Dreams that I can remember in the morning

My brain came back from Vacation just in time.

We’re very glad to see you again brain, and you look so refreshed and revitalized. The tan suits you beautifully. Once you’re settled, heart and gut would like to sit down and catch you up on everything that’s happened, and most significantly, the things that haven’t happened while you were away. Oh, and they watered your plants.


Tonight I pranced up and down a very grand staircase with nine stunningly beautiful women, wearing turn of the century underwear in front of 1000 people.

You stood beneath a tree, outside, in the rain watching us through the glass.

I can think of two ways that this can unfold.

You will either remember me always as the girl in the fishbowl.


Next time you could be inside, sipping Shiraz and wearing a three piece suit.

The water is just fine, in case you were wondering.

Where Socks Go When They Get Lost In The Dryer

This evening I got home from work and spent an hour attending to household administration, and then packed up my laundry and wheeled it down to the laundromat that I frequent. I swear I will feel like an actual grown up when I have my own washer and dryer somewhere. During laundry, I shared dinner with a friend who I haven’t seen in a little while, but then I was left alone. Utterly alone, at night, in a deserted Laundromat devoid of people and whirring machines. Even the too-loud television was turned off for the night. Laundry is such an incredibly domestic chore, and one I’ve always rather enjoyed, but tonight it made me incredibly uneasy. As I folded my laundry, I began to think…

When something is stained, really stained, it becomes an embarrassment. We pre-soak. We spray. We spend an extra .75 on that oxy stuff that’s supposed to remove even the toughest, ground in whatever. All of these efforts will surely make the stain fade, but it’s obviously still visible. Your whites will never get whiter again sometimes.

So then what? You can toss the offending article out, but it’s still perfectly usable! That sweater will still keep you warm. Those socks will still make your feet toasty. That bed will still provide the deepest, sweetest slumber. But who can see past that unsightly mark? Who can appreciate the inherent worth of an article without getting completely hung up on what the stain might have been caused by? Is it mustard? Rust? Grass? Mud? Blood?

No late-night infomercial gimmick will work. No Martha-Stewart, Haley’s Handy Hints, Aunt Bea’s secret solution will lift and remove. No cold bucket of water, no sea salt, no club soda will make this mark go away. It will fade, and in the right light you will hardly ever see it, but when the sun shines a certain way, or you approach it from a certain angle, there it will be.

The question is, do you throw it out, or do you decide that you love it for its character?

My head is so full, but my lips are perfectly sealed. I’m amazed to discover that I can, at will, completely shut off my heart. It’s extraordinary and terrifying. It’s like watching someone else live my life with utter, cold, detachment. I feel like I am my own Victorian chaperon; one icy hand on my own shoulder to steer me away from temptation and heartache. In the past, it was only under extreme emotional duress that I have been able to feel such vacancy.

But when I am alone with my thoughts, I am mostly afraid, and that fear is now spilling into my dreams, which until now I’ve been unable to remember upon waking in the morning.

My heart is flickering to life like a camping lantern that needs stronger batteries. Can you feel it? I used to slip so effortlessly into abandon, falling so far, so fast. Uttering aloud each moment and each discovery. Now, I am keeping these things so close. Now these words can’t find their way to my lips. They dissolve in pools of awkward uncertainty, and I wonder how I must come across…

Your kindness comes as naturally as breathing, and if I think too much about what an effect it has had on me, I feel that terrifying lump that means I’ve opened these doors too wide. To even try to write this feels strained, and I hesitate to hit the “publish” button.

I can give my heart freely to my friends and my family. For them my love knows now bounds and I openly express my affection and joy each time they make my heart swell.

Anything beyond this feels like alien territory. It’s been so easy to offer up various other parts of myself in these last few months, but now I feel like Bambi on the skating pond.

Limbs akimbo, here I go.

Grace and Graciousness

This is the most thankful thanksgiving I have had in a very, very long time.
In the interest of expressing my profound gratitude to the universe, I shall endeavor to list all of the things I’m thankful for here:

Beautiful apartment
Awesome landlords
New job
Incredible creative outlet
Amazing business partner
Inspiring friends
My girls – Amanda, Ming, Kathryn
Georgia (she’s not here yet, officially, but I can feel her everywhere)
Upcoming gigs
Les Coquettes
The Storybook Cottage
My mom
My dad
Autumn in Ontario
High Park
Having the strength to leave, once and for all
My health
My heart, which despite several cracks seems to still work really, really well
Gordy, and the way we can still talk
Clare and her amazing generosity
Singing songs
The incredible beauty and strength of my collective family
My Cousins
Locke, who showed me exactly what was what the first time he looked into my eyes
Beautiful almond eyes, spiced oranges, and the music we were making
English Alex who is paving the way for everyone else
Your red curls and how they are helping to restore my faith
My independence
My strength
Jackie who lives and breathes in everything that makes my heart sing
Sadie Marcia Poag
Learning to listen to my gut
Each day

Somehow They Just Know

Each pet I’ve had over the last seven or eight years has been a rescue animal. I hand picked almost all of them, and there was something beautiful, and sad, and stoic about them all. I know most of their stories. Some of them have been through hardship and strife, but all of them have one thing in common – they were unwanted, and tossed aside by their previous owners.

When you take something that has been abandoned or cast off, and you feed it and give it shelter, the very basic requirements at best, it is as though they completely and totally recognize you as their savior, and they form an attachment so strong, it’s often embarrassing. My current cat cries if he can’t be on me at all times, and when I do indulge him, he holds my face with his paw and drools all over the both of us.

My very first dog was three when he came to me, and I had to teach him how to play. He spent his entire doggie life never having anyone give him the doggie things that he so craved – fetch, chase, tug. When I showed him how to do it properly, he was relentless. I could not even say words that rhymed with ball aloud without him going mental.

My dog that I half-own, and who lives with me part time loves to spoon. I’m not supposed to allow him into my bed because it pisses off his other owner, but I often do it anyway, because he’s so warm and furry, and his breathing makes me feel so peaceful. He is happiest when he’s in my lap, or tucked under my arm. When we go for walks at night he growls at strange men until they cross the street and go around me.

A starved animal will never bite the hand of the kind-hearted person who decides to feed it and give it proper care. It will not only bring you the morning paper, but it will Google the most complicated crossword clues to make sure you are victorious. It will bring you your slippers, and give you a shiatsu massage before slipping them on to your dainty feet.

They can’t help the ridiculous amount of affection that they exhibit. It’s the only way to express their gratitude. Especially after you’ve made it perfectly clear that dead mice or disembodied deer legs are just not cool.

(And yes, this posting is metaphoric.)

The Long, Long Ivory Length of You

Last night I drifted to sleep imaging long, angular ivory limbs sprawled across my tiny double bed…
Little bumps like gooseflesh rising along your back because it’s too early to turn on the heat and too late to sleep with a window open…
The lovely luminescence of your white, white skin bathed by the orange glow of the streetlamp outside my window…
The gentle ebb and flow of your dream-time breathing lulling me like the steady sighing of the ocean…
And so I slept, so sweetly.