Glob of Blog

"My fingers are red and swollen from the cold,
I'm getting bold in my old age, so go ahead, try the door
It doesn't matter any more
I know the weak-hearted are stong-willed and we are being kept alive until we are killed
He's up there
The ice is
Clinking in his glass
He sends me little pieces of paper
I don't ask
I just empty
My pockets
And wait ... "

Everytime I open a new blog page that Ani DiFranco quote from her spoken word piece, "Up" comes into my head, though I don't know why. Maybe it's the candence, apparent only when performed, that sticks in my head, but why it comes out in blogging world is beyond me.

It's funny, this business of blogging. We begin because we feel the need / desire / curiousity to share ourselves with strangers, but ultimately create alter egos, hungry for little chunks of dismembered human persona. Yep, that's my name, that's my picture; yes, I'm really interested in ______ , no, I never wanted to ______ ... It's real but it's incomplete, and omission is guilty by default.

I am never going to talk about my most profound truths in this or any blog.
I am never going to tell any of you, in this or any blog, what makes me wake in the night gripped in horror.
I am never going to tell anyone about the things I have done that still hang over my head, nor will I share my greatest joys for fear of dibilitating them with words. At least not in this or any blog.
I am never going to post a picture of myself ill, hurt, crying, angry, or just barely awake.
I am never going to fill in any kind of searchable criteria that reveal anything about my height, weight, shoe size, sexual orientation, religion, ethnicity, or family of origin anywhere on the entire Internet, nevermind in this or any blog.

Is the story I tell of myself true, then? I continue to judge you all as I judge myself, choosing carefully what you might find interesting; what I feel safe enough to share. I create myself as I go, and what I create for this screen comes from me, and makes me too.

This chapter is over.

peace~

Ramble, ramble, sleep

I live in an urban jungle. Racoons scamper around under my car, staring at me like they can't wait to use their opposable thumbs to choke the shit out of me if I dare think about driving anywhere. They live under my car when it rains, which is handy since I tend to stay in when it does. Snails have invaded my recycling bags, which wasn't a big deal until they (the bags, not the snails) got tagged for having glass inside and I had to dump them out in the driveway and pick through socially conscious trash to find the offending babyfood jars. Four in total. Every morning I am greeted by a spider the size of a golf ball in my bathtub. I capture it and set it free outside, only to meet it's furry gaze again the next morning. This morning there was some big, giant, red and brown, spider-beetle-IslandofMorrow-type thing in there and I'm sorry to say, I couldn't handle it so I drowned it. My first act of intentional violence in about nine years. Everyone in this building has cats who seem to find more comfort in my backseat or in my living room than in their own overstuffed beds. That is, of course, unless they are chasing ferrets, which have also somehow invaded the neighbourhood. I hear there are ants upstairs. Can't wait to meet them.

***

A travelling evangelist knocked on my door this afternoon eight minutes after I put my son to bed for a nap. She was soaking wet, dripping from every surface, black strappy sandals, no coat. God held my tongue as she offered me an invitation to a religious conference, raising her voice just a little so I could hear her over the sound of Kaeden crying. "Thanks," I said, respecting her sense of obligation instead of innocently suggesting she go look under my car.

***

I feel safe with my head covered, so I'm wearing a toque with my jammies right now, which is what I do when I'm sad or grouchy, which is how I feel when my normally docile and friendly eight-month-old cries himself to sleep for a week straight, which makes me feel helpless, which makes me more grouchy, which makes me want to blog to feel better, which is an act made purely in the spirit of retaining my utopic bubble.

***

I bought apricots today for the first time ever. This is kind of funny because "apricot" has been the secret password between my sister and I for over twenty years, but I've never actually eaten one before. I wonder if she has? I finally found plums and peaches too, which bring delight to my day, so much so that I'm writing about it when really, it has no significance whatsoever to anyone but me. (That was painful.)

***

If anyone is interested, by "other" blog is at www.myspace.com/xziat but be prepared: I reserve it for purely meaningless meandering and save the important stuff for this one. So don't expect anything genius, as if you do already.

peace~