First official walk of 2018.
Time to bring out the music, slip on the red converse, and exorcise some winter demons.
Just waiting for Mother Nature to bring her green to the celebration.
A song while we wait: Barenaked Ladies "Enid".
A graphic designer, an illustrator, and me. Out and about in the sun for an open house tour of local artists. Great way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Thanks for letting me tag along Janet and James.
Ugh. Morning. Early. Stupid adulting.
In a determined attempt at mind over matter, I have decided to relabel my panic attacks as pancake attacks. Admittedly, there will be a risk of weight gain involved, but if successful, I won't care. Other potential challenges include a strain on budget due to purchase of large quantities of batter and frequent laundry runs to tackle what I have already termed "pocket syrup syndrome", a side-effect of remaining adequately supplied while on the road. All to be outweighed by the reduction in stress an irritability.
I feel calmer already and full enough to take a nap.
Sweet, sweet, sing-song: Carpenters "Close To You".
During the night, I woke and felt like I'd been drinking (quite heavily) before going to sleep. I was convinced I'd be facing a hangover come morning, so I changed my alarm from six a.m. to eight as a preemptive measure to mitigate the impact. When I woke again, I realized I'd been dreaming and hadn't had anything to drink at all.
I still feel like shit but it's a normal, everyday kind of shit and not a hangover level kind of shit, so in a bizarre sort of fashion, I actually started my day thankful for something. It's all good in the hood. Or, as a white, 46 year old male with no defensible claim to a life situation and an environment which Collins Dictionary defines as representing "a lower class housing where minorities, immigrants and the poor live. Mostly attributed to African Americans and government housing known as the projects", it's all good in the Old Navy hoodie.
And yes, that is pre-shower bedhead and a toaster oven in the background. I am both unkempt and low-tech so I like to think I'm hardcore in my own questionable fashion.
Just got to ride the Hump Day, Wednesday wave, baby. Ride the wave.
A sober yet super tune: Gowan "Strange Animal".
I've been working hard to be more positive lately. I really have. I've been lining up contract work and budgeting things to get me through the next few months, and I'm close to making it happen. I have some potential timing challenges with payments from clients lining up but I'm not dwelling on it. I've been confident things will come together and for the first time in a while, things will be a little more secure, at least for the immediate future.
One to shimmie to: Willie Nelson "On The Road Again".
Should have known better, I suppose. Took my car in for a much overdue $95 wheel alignment, came out with a $1,200 quote and a car they were concerned about me driving home for fear of the front end collapsing to the ground at the first bump in the road.
One to shimmie to: Willie Nelson "On The Road Again".
I struggled to wake up to my six am alarm so I told myself I had accomplished so much yesterday I could go back to sleep until seven. I knew that wasn't true and started to refute it, but then I said "Shhh, shhh. It's OK." and passed out. I can be so gullible and manipulative at the same time. I'm a very complex person. A very tired and complex person.
A simple ditty: Buddy Holly "Everyday".
I think a great way to feed my fragile ego would be to acquire an Amazon Echo and occasionally yell out things like "Alexa, make us some toast." Then I'd stand at the counter all smug-like and smile as I buttered each slice, picturing her sulking away in the Cloud like an over-hyped brick of simulated intelligence, keenly aware of her physical limitations. The fact she couldn't partake of the freshly prepared, warm, toasty goodness would only serve to further my deftly orchestrated sense of false superiority and as a bonus, cater to my guilty pleasure of not having to share.
I can't afford to purchase an Echo at the moment and my toaster is broken so I'm having cereal for breakfast, but I know inside I'll be laughing to myself all day and muttering things like "Oh yah".
It's probably best I'm broke because I'm sure Alexa would only end up ruining things by reminding me how I need to get out more.
A song for the artificially bold: Gino Vanelli "Black Cars".
I love a well written verse. Something smart. Something that conveys a concept or emotion without sacrificing depth through the blunt use of straightforward, obvious language.
Rather, it slips into your consciousness like a whisper and settles in deep - a truth you've always carried but never recognized was there until someone shone a light on it. One of my favourite examples is from a song called Murder In The City by The Avett Brothers...
"Make sure my sister knows I loved her
Make sure my mother knows the same
Always remember there was nothing worth sharing
Like the love that let us share our name"
This afternoon I added a new one to my collection. This one is from Fortunate Ones and their song, Steady As She Goes...
"Take what you can, she said
Let the rest go up in flames
We'll be all right I bet
It's the faces in the frames that kept the house up anyways"
And what makes it all even better? They're from Newfoundland.
I'm feeling a little shitty this afternoon so I drove to the Dollar Store and picked myself up a new coffee mug. I still feel shitty, but I've gained another mug I don't need and I've spent three dollars that could have been put to better use - such as the gas it took to make the unnecessary trip in the first place. It's apparent that my personal attitude adjustment capabilities are questionable at best. It's a nice colour of blue, but it won't sit flat and tends to wobble. Next time I may just opt to take a nap instead. In the meantime, I'm drinking wobbly coffee and doing my best to enjoy it.
My friend Cheryl bought me a round, palm-sized object she referred to as a "bath bomb" and recommended I give it a try. After filling the tub with water, I tossed in the bomb, but instead of the bathroom filling with smoke and me stealthily disappearing during the confusion, I was left with nothing but coloured foam and a floor in desperate need of mopping. Women may smell nice, but they know nothing of the deadly arts of the ninja.