I knew a lot of Russians in high school. One of them wanted to be a dentist. She was easily shocked, and didn't like the way I invented and shared various sexual scenarios with my two crushes at the time, Kurt Browning and Elvis Stojko. She had long brown braids and a wicked wit.
I feel like I am drowning in alcohol lately. Not as bad as the Summer of Oak Bay, and of course I'm not hideously depressed and lonely this time, but there are other parallels. I seem to drink more when I have little to do. I can't wait for work and school to start again, or alternatively, for me to walk across the living room to the table and start writing. Why is it so difficult to do something that you love? I'm sick of that question. It's difficult because human beings would rather self-destruct that do something that's good for them emotionally. Maybe I should try to transform my writing into a process that is damaging and unhealthy, and then I'll do it more? Good idea, that ...
My hair is woeful. There is a broken guitar in the living room. Outside it is neither cloudy nor sunny - a nonsensical state of affairs that I rage against! I also rage against Joyce Carol Oates' author photo. She looks a million times more sophisticated and tragic than me, and she's got these wonderful stark cheekbones, plus she's an amazing writer. Ben told me a while ago that she should be on our List of People to Hate due to her unfairly multi-talented life, the kind of life that we will never know, and although I was reticent at the time, I think the photo has changed my mind.
I'm drinking coffee and irish creme liquer for breakfast. Matt's uncle has addicted me. I mean ... We're out of milk.
Last night was Ryan and Aya's last day in town, and Ryan treated us to Shabu Shabu! It involves going to a restaurant on Blanshard St., sitting in front of a vat of boiling vegetable stock, and dumping in things like mushrooms, tomatoes, fish cakes, spinach, noodles, etc., then picking them out with chopsticks and eating them. I was delighted! But I made a horrible mess. Bits of food everywhere.
Matt is reading me quotes from the Kurt Cobain Journals, stuff like, "You can not de-program the glutton."
I think that'll be all for today ... Must get to work on the new story, as yet not really begun. Panic will start to rise on Tuesday or Wednesday, I think. I had this horrible dream last night where Ben and I were both 10 years old and we were in this figure skating competition, and we skated to the Sound of Music and everybody loved us, and after we got off the ice they were screaming for us to come back and do an encore (at a competition, no less which is unheard of). I was all excited and ready to go back, but Ben was irritable and insisted on flossing his teeth first. Then his teeth got all bloody and he offered me a piece of bloody floss and said, "You?" and we missed the encore.
A big thanks to Michael for getting me started on this blog - I shall never forget his initial classy move of getting me coffee when we were working a shift at SUBtext together. I get the feeling this is only the beginning ...