Almost crying at work

31 07 2014

It’s not a good thing, right? I guess it depends on the reason. You could be so happy from working that you cry. But that was obviously not the case for me. That’s probably a good indicator that I shouldn’t be working there, right?





Cacao

30 07 2014

Funny sketch from Portlandia.





2017

29 07 2014

You told me last night
in the only place I see you now,
that we will be together in 2017.

You were conducting the orchestra
at my graduation. When everyone saw
you, they bowed reverently. But our bodies the only ones
standing, our eyes stayed
on each other.

You always had that effect on me.

With your hand on mine, we flipped through songs,
you laughing at my “bad” taste. I don’t see
your face, but I feel you there, warm and familiar.

I will be 29. You, 31. It will
have been ten years since we felt ourselves
together. Sometime, between the next
two and a half to three and a half years, you
will be back, and you will look at me,
and you will smile just like in the memories
I clutch onto every day.

You smiled, and it was as it you had never aged.

Then, when I woke up, I felt my face contort as if pulled
by wires, a sadness boiling from my gut to my face.

I cried.





Orxy and Crake

28 07 2014

Finally finished another book.

I really like this passage about Jimmy feeling’s for the women he has sex with: “He figured out pretty soon that he was an extra for these lovers — not to be taken seriously, but instead to be treasured like some child’s free gift dug out of a box of cereal, colourful and delightful but useless: the joker among the twos and threes they’d been dealt in their real lives. He was merely a pastime for them.”

That’s a pretty spot-on description.

By the way, I’m trying to stick out my belly as much as possible in this picture for maximum attractiveness. It’s hard to tell. I’ll have to take a pic from the side next time.

2014-07-28 22.29.46





For the first time in foreverrrrrrr….

27 07 2014

I’m writing a post on my computer instead of on my phone like I’ve been doing for the past while. Been attending a memoir writing workshop lead by the amazing Amber Dawn. Super helpful in helping me focus on my writing. I’m getting a lot out of it, and I’m so happy to be writing after a drought of not being able to because of working those dreaded 12 hour days. Thankfully, I’m now done to “normal” 9 hours a day this week (4 at the library and 5 at the TV station), which I think will be enormously helpful in getting me to bed earlier and hence not hating my life when I wake reluctantly drag myself out of bed in the mornings.

Also, I can spend more time with my cat,which is really the most important change out of all this.





House Party

26 07 2014

There are many faces,
many moving mouths
that do not talk in my direction..
The five bowls of chips suddenly
become harder to get to.
I stick to the closest one–
Cracked pepper.

Izzy arrives. I’ve heard a lot about her from Melissa.
Melissa begins introducing her to everyone she doesn’t know, which is not much–
then attends to something, leaving behind her soprano tones she reserves for excitement.
Boy stands by Izzy– Byron, I think I hear. I think of Lord Byron. This Byron does not look like a writer, but he does look at me.

He looks at me again when he sits near me.
Do my eyes deceive me or do they deceive me?
Why do I still think believe glances hold boxes of promises?
When Byron speaks, his voice is high-ish– possible gay, informs my non-existant gaydar. But Panda, who brought veggies earlier, jokes, “Should I have brought my boyfriend too, Melissa?” when Izzy steps inside. I don’t know. I shouldn’t care that he’s pretty and I get his Spongebob reference and watch his toes curl behind his white ankle socks. I shouldn’t care.

When they come, they bring chips and noise. I’m no match.

Outside, I sit on a wicker bench,
on green tea-colored cushions.
The gap in the shrubs nearby–
Can I escape? I wonder.
I’d like to finish Oryx and Crake
sitting at home with my cat.





Evan Munday

25 07 2014

weirdduck88:

Look! An interview with the awesome Evan Munday I did!

Originally posted on nineteenquestions:

Munday-webInterviewed by Aaron Chan

Evan Munday is the author and illustrator of The Dead Kid Detective Agency, a finalist for the Sunburst Award for fantastical young adult literature and the Silver Birch Fiction Award. He sometimes makes comics and worked for eight years as book publicist for indie press Coach House Books. He lives in Toronto.

A few years ago, when I took a Children’s Lit class in college, The Dead Kid Detective Agency was the only book on the reading list written by a Canadian author. As the instructor told the class, “He’s not that much older than you guys, too.” Charmed by the snappy humour as well as the unabashed Canadiana of the novel and the sequel, Dial M for Morna, I had the opportunity to chat with Evan via email about his illustrating background, rejections, and The Postman.

When/how did you know you wanted to…

View original 2,226 more words








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