Last night, after the luxury of four days of rest, Miss Fitness, your servant, went for her usual Tuesday night: one hour aerobics followed by one hour spinning. The first class can be demanding but it's not exactly hard. I can usually breeze through it with my eyes closed and thinking about my income tax. Although I do try not to think about my income tax when I work out, because it sorts of defeats the purpose doesn't it? Where was I?
Ok, last night. About 30-35 minutes into the first not-very-hard class, after that long rest, my body suddenly groans: "That's it, no more, I'm spent, I'm done!"
"WHAT? You've got to be kidding me!" I say, with great presence of mind.
"Raaaaaahhhhh…" moans the body.
I can feel it: no more breath, no more energy, I'm running on below empty, as suddenly as hitting a wall.
Well, shit. I go and have a drink, to put a little fluid and sugar in me, wondering if and how I'm going to be able to finish the class. Around me, everybody is happily dancing along. Stupefaction and pride kick in, (ah, pride!) and I clench my teeth and mentally draw the curtains. That means I focus on "keep going", stare at the floor and no longer make eye contact or smile or appear alive, which earns me several puzzled looks from the instructor who can't understand what's going on with me. Well I can't either.
I finish the class, thankful for the abs and cool down. I walk upstairs to the spinning room and I stand there by my bike: my legs are shaking helplessly for about ten minutes. Thankfully, I have a fifteen minutes pause between the two classes. I hold my own in spinning, exhausted yes, but not feeling that wall slamming into me again. My white shirt is by then so completely soaked that it is absolutely sheer. Interesting.
So there you have it. Of course, I'm trying to find out what happened but there are so many variables that it's very difficult to pinpoint. You'll just understand why, next time someone talks about my being in shape, I might start laughing.
Vince, jog on the mountain huh?
Jëno…just…don't.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Monday, February 26, 2007
To Be or Not To Be
That's just like me, I don't write for ever, then you can't shut me up.
I don't know anybody who has ever seen Peter Weir's Gallipoli. The film is somewhat unremarkable except for the last ten minutes, which are unforgettable. And the last shot is heartwrenching. A masterly piece of film. A propos of nothing.
Talking of masterpieces, I'm reading T.E. Lawrence's "Seven Pillars of Wisdom" but it does very little for me so far.
I learned today that I was no longer considered for the role of Master of Ceremony for the conference I'm helping organize. That I was not, in fact, really expected to attend at all. Don't get me wrong, this wouldn't be the result of a demotion but the result of my qualifying on a competition.
Never have I been less enthusiastic about qualifying on a competition which is perhaps why my interlocutor got such a blank look. Perhaps was I a little melancholy at being disposed of so promptly.
But that's ok, nothing is permanent except change. Change is good. Change is the opportunity you make it to be. If change is indeed in my immediate future, I might as well have fun with it.
So I took a deep breath and I started laughing softly at how long and hard I had thought before accepting the position of MC...only to have the offer rescinded two weeks later. Heh.
I don't know anybody who has ever seen Peter Weir's Gallipoli. The film is somewhat unremarkable except for the last ten minutes, which are unforgettable. And the last shot is heartwrenching. A masterly piece of film. A propos of nothing.
Talking of masterpieces, I'm reading T.E. Lawrence's "Seven Pillars of Wisdom" but it does very little for me so far.
I learned today that I was no longer considered for the role of Master of Ceremony for the conference I'm helping organize. That I was not, in fact, really expected to attend at all. Don't get me wrong, this wouldn't be the result of a demotion but the result of my qualifying on a competition.
Never have I been less enthusiastic about qualifying on a competition which is perhaps why my interlocutor got such a blank look. Perhaps was I a little melancholy at being disposed of so promptly.
But that's ok, nothing is permanent except change. Change is good. Change is the opportunity you make it to be. If change is indeed in my immediate future, I might as well have fun with it.
So I took a deep breath and I started laughing softly at how long and hard I had thought before accepting the position of MC...only to have the offer rescinded two weeks later. Heh.
L'eucalyptus
Once upon a time, there was a little town drenched with sunshine. The trees grew tall and luxurious, fragrant flowers were in abundance. Every morning, at dawn, a rooster sang in a garden across the street. The town was bordered by the bluest sea in the world and high mountains lined the horizon on clear days.
The little girl went to a small all-girl primary school. She loved it passionately, because it took her away from the chaos of home. This was her world only, and in her world, she was a gifted student, the teacher’s pet, never lacked friends, learned with inextinguishable eagerness.
When she was eight or nine years old, her best friend was called MC. They were friends for less than a year, before circumstances separated them. Then the little girl went to high school, changed country, changed continent, became a big girl, and still kept drifting all over the place. The memory of MC, of her small school, of the small town drenched in sunshine became so distant it felt like another lifetime. She didn't think this past would ever manifest itself again other than in her mind and her dreams.
When this man called me last week, I thought it was a call from the past. I was mistaken; it was nothing but a rehearsal.
Thursday night came my true call from the past. With no warning whatsoever, MC called me from France. I don't know how she tracked me down. We had never kept in touch. How stunned I was can perhaps only be understood by my brother.
"This is another lifetime calling. Another world. Another dimension: the past."
We talked for about fifteen minutes. She hinted at very dark things in her life and I didn't pry: there would be time for it yet.
I had been someone very special in her life, back then, and she had never forgotten me. In a few simple words, she told me what I represented for her, why I had such an impact, and I was touched and moved but still dumbstruck.
We ended on promises of snail mail, for she doesn't have an email, to catch up with basically what is almost all our lives. I haven't started my letter yet. I'm still struggling to update my Weltanschauung.
The little girl went to a small all-girl primary school. She loved it passionately, because it took her away from the chaos of home. This was her world only, and in her world, she was a gifted student, the teacher’s pet, never lacked friends, learned with inextinguishable eagerness.
When she was eight or nine years old, her best friend was called MC. They were friends for less than a year, before circumstances separated them. Then the little girl went to high school, changed country, changed continent, became a big girl, and still kept drifting all over the place. The memory of MC, of her small school, of the small town drenched in sunshine became so distant it felt like another lifetime. She didn't think this past would ever manifest itself again other than in her mind and her dreams.
When this man called me last week, I thought it was a call from the past. I was mistaken; it was nothing but a rehearsal.
Thursday night came my true call from the past. With no warning whatsoever, MC called me from France. I don't know how she tracked me down. We had never kept in touch. How stunned I was can perhaps only be understood by my brother.
"This is another lifetime calling. Another world. Another dimension: the past."
We talked for about fifteen minutes. She hinted at very dark things in her life and I didn't pry: there would be time for it yet.
I had been someone very special in her life, back then, and she had never forgotten me. In a few simple words, she told me what I represented for her, why I had such an impact, and I was touched and moved but still dumbstruck.
We ended on promises of snail mail, for she doesn't have an email, to catch up with basically what is almost all our lives. I haven't started my letter yet. I'm still struggling to update my Weltanschauung.
Don't Fear The Reaper
When my bad dream turned into a nightmare, I started yelling, at the top of my voice, pausing only to get a new lungful of air.
Back when I was married, my screams sometimes translated into actual whimpers that would wake the hubby, who would in turn mercifully wake me. One inconvenience of being single is that I have no one to wake me.
The terror increased and I let out a shriek so desperate that I actually woke up. I blinked in the darkness, wondering if I had screamed out loud. A door opened and closed and a dark shape peered hesitantly into my room.
"Hey, what's up?" I said, my heart still beating wildly, covered in sweat. My son ran to my bed and slipped beside me.
"I just wanted to see why you were singing," he said. I thought that was an odd choice of word.
"Was I singing?"
"Yes." Well, I wasn't in the mood to tell him it was not singing but actually screaming in terror.
"Was I loud?"
"Yes, very loud. You stopped and started again and stopped and started again." He laughed nervously. "I was starting to believe that you were being murdered."
The truth is he was spooked; my "singing" probably didn't sound like fun at all.
He settled tightly against my back.
"Don't you know you were singing?" he asked.
"No. I was dreaming."
A beat.
"What were you dreaming about?"
"It was a nightmare," I said and we both left it at that.
We lied there for about an hour. For once I didn't mind his squirming because his body pressed against mine, his quiet breathing which I felt through his pyjama were the best antidote to the terror I had felt. Eventually, the cats started jumping on his feet, which he didn't like and I whispered to him to go back to his bed, which he did. Within minutes, we were both sound asleep.
I do wish I had someone to wake me up.
Back when I was married, my screams sometimes translated into actual whimpers that would wake the hubby, who would in turn mercifully wake me. One inconvenience of being single is that I have no one to wake me.
The terror increased and I let out a shriek so desperate that I actually woke up. I blinked in the darkness, wondering if I had screamed out loud. A door opened and closed and a dark shape peered hesitantly into my room.
"Hey, what's up?" I said, my heart still beating wildly, covered in sweat. My son ran to my bed and slipped beside me.
"I just wanted to see why you were singing," he said. I thought that was an odd choice of word.
"Was I singing?"
"Yes." Well, I wasn't in the mood to tell him it was not singing but actually screaming in terror.
"Was I loud?"
"Yes, very loud. You stopped and started again and stopped and started again." He laughed nervously. "I was starting to believe that you were being murdered."
The truth is he was spooked; my "singing" probably didn't sound like fun at all.
He settled tightly against my back.
"Don't you know you were singing?" he asked.
"No. I was dreaming."
A beat.
"What were you dreaming about?"
"It was a nightmare," I said and we both left it at that.
We lied there for about an hour. For once I didn't mind his squirming because his body pressed against mine, his quiet breathing which I felt through his pyjama were the best antidote to the terror I had felt. Eventually, the cats started jumping on his feet, which he didn't like and I whispered to him to go back to his bed, which he did. Within minutes, we were both sound asleep.
I do wish I had someone to wake me up.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Cold
Sometimes you have to make a choice between home and work. On Thursday, partially out of guilt because I don't choose it often enough, I picked home. I was needed there. I was expected at work. I'll pay for it on Monday, I know. I needed to address some things urgently and I did. But I'm not looking forward to my boss's anger, disappointement, coldness or just plain lashing out.
Well, when I made the decision, I agreed to deal with the consequences, unpleasant as they might be.
I've not had a nice weekend.
I've had a weekend filled with anxiety.
I read "The Beach".
I watched "The Guardian".
I gave a present I had so carefully chosen and wrapped.
My son got a haircut.
Loukhi got neutered.
It's not always simple and easy, is it?
Well, when I made the decision, I agreed to deal with the consequences, unpleasant as they might be.
I've not had a nice weekend.
I've had a weekend filled with anxiety.
I read "The Beach".
I watched "The Guardian".
I gave a present I had so carefully chosen and wrapped.
My son got a haircut.
Loukhi got neutered.
It's not always simple and easy, is it?
Cold
Sometimes you have to make a choice between home and work. On Thursday,
partially out of guilt because I don't choose it often enough, I picked
home. I was needed there. I was expected at work. I'll pay for it on Monday,
I know. I needed to address some things urgently and I did. But I'm not
looking forward to my boss's anger, disappointement, coldness or just plain
lashing out.
partially out of guilt because I don't choose it often enough, I picked
home. I was needed there. I was expected at work. I'll pay for it on Monday,
I know. I needed to address some things urgently and I did. But I'm not
looking forward to my boss's anger, disappointement, coldness or just plain
lashing out.
Well, when I made the decision, I agreed to deal with the consequences,
unpleasant as they might be.
I've not had a nice weekend.
I've had a weekend filled with anxiety.
I read "The Beach".
I watched "The Guardian".
I gave a present I had so carefully chosen and wrapped.
My son got a haircut.
Loukhi got neutered.
It's not always simple and easy, is it?
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Hello in Haste
I'm going to lose my entire readership if I keep on neglecting my blog! I've just spent a month in Belleville, Ontario, the last two days. Among all the boring places in the world, I'd say Belleville can hold its head high. Perhaps as a result, our meeting was remarkably productive.
After my bed, it was my fridge's turn to die on me. I bought a new one. I have a shiny, brand new, all white Frigidaire. I know you'll be as thrilled as I am about this exciting piece of news.
(My bank manager keeps calling me. I don't know why because I don't return his calls. Just kidding.)
Work is going well if pretty fast and in several directions. Home is going well, cats and kid are thriving. It's funny how I'm too busy living my life these days to have time writing about it. But don't despair. I'm sure I'll be back soon with new and improved ways of messing up one way or another.
In the meantime, be safe y'all!
After my bed, it was my fridge's turn to die on me. I bought a new one. I have a shiny, brand new, all white Frigidaire. I know you'll be as thrilled as I am about this exciting piece of news.
(My bank manager keeps calling me. I don't know why because I don't return his calls. Just kidding.)
Work is going well if pretty fast and in several directions. Home is going well, cats and kid are thriving. It's funny how I'm too busy living my life these days to have time writing about it. But don't despair. I'm sure I'll be back soon with new and improved ways of messing up one way or another.
In the meantime, be safe y'all!
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
L'horloge
"Souviens-toi que le temps est un joueur avide
Qui gagne sans tricher
A tout coup
C'est la loi"
Beaudelaire
Last night my phone rang and, somewhat tentatively, a voice reached out from the past. I once adored this man. Three years ago, this call would have filled my heart with delirious happiness.
Stunned, I pretended I was glad to hear from him until I could figure out how I truly felt about it. Later on, it all came back, what I had not thought about in years. I was reminded of him, of shared fits of laughter, of harsh, unforgivable words.
What happened since? Time happened. Two years ago, an unrelated event rocked my world and in the smouldering aftermath, I realized this man did not matter in my life. I don't think he can ever matter again. There's no anger or resentment, only indifference. I'm sorry.
Qui gagne sans tricher
A tout coup
C'est la loi"
Beaudelaire
Last night my phone rang and, somewhat tentatively, a voice reached out from the past. I once adored this man. Three years ago, this call would have filled my heart with delirious happiness.
Stunned, I pretended I was glad to hear from him until I could figure out how I truly felt about it. Later on, it all came back, what I had not thought about in years. I was reminded of him, of shared fits of laughter, of harsh, unforgivable words.
What happened since? Time happened. Two years ago, an unrelated event rocked my world and in the smouldering aftermath, I realized this man did not matter in my life. I don't think he can ever matter again. There's no anger or resentment, only indifference. I'm sorry.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Why Ask Why?
I'm so in love with my new mattress set I wanted to put a picture of it on my blog. My friend protested, saying it would be too suggestive. Well, I wasn't going to post a picture of the bed with us in it! I think he's just jealous because he's secretly in love with my new bed too.
I've forgotten how to skate. Apparently, skating is not like riding a bicycle. You do forget. It's been what? Twenty-seven years? So I want to give it a go again but for some reason, I'm not particularly keen on looking like a spread-out-octopus-on-ice (enjoy the image). I don't know why, for I'm usually not overly concerned with saving face. I've no qualms skiing for instance, and I ski badly. But for some reason, I've decided I wanted to find my skate-legs back on my own. It's not easy finding empty rinks. I'm probably going to develop a reputation as a pervert for haunting deserted rinks late at night.
Last week I was confronted to someone who reads my blog faithfully yet displays no interest whatsoever in its author as a person. I thought it was a paradox and like paradoxes typically do, it had me puzzled. Then lightening struck and, peering into the eyes of a miniature black purring cat, I suddenly wondered: "Why ask why?"
I believe this is going to become my mantra, my motto, my resolution for 2007. I'm going to develop a philosophy of taking things exactly as they are, and saving the time and energy to wonder why they are like that. Stop wondering why people behave the way they do. Stop wondering why people do the things they do. Stop wondering why people say or don’t say the things they say or don't say. Stop wondering why things happen that way and no other. Stop wondering why I'm so successful at this and such a disaster at that. Stop wondering why.
Why ask why? My Wondering Neurone has been in overdrive for too long. Can you shut it down Bridge? Can you accept things as they are? Can you let go without dissecting? Can you just let it be? You like personal challenges, girlfriend, here’s a good one for you.
(No worries, I often talk to myself…my psychiatrist says it’s normal. All the people in my head say so too.)
I've forgotten how to skate. Apparently, skating is not like riding a bicycle. You do forget. It's been what? Twenty-seven years? So I want to give it a go again but for some reason, I'm not particularly keen on looking like a spread-out-octopus-on-ice (enjoy the image). I don't know why, for I'm usually not overly concerned with saving face. I've no qualms skiing for instance, and I ski badly. But for some reason, I've decided I wanted to find my skate-legs back on my own. It's not easy finding empty rinks. I'm probably going to develop a reputation as a pervert for haunting deserted rinks late at night.
Last week I was confronted to someone who reads my blog faithfully yet displays no interest whatsoever in its author as a person. I thought it was a paradox and like paradoxes typically do, it had me puzzled. Then lightening struck and, peering into the eyes of a miniature black purring cat, I suddenly wondered: "Why ask why?"
I believe this is going to become my mantra, my motto, my resolution for 2007. I'm going to develop a philosophy of taking things exactly as they are, and saving the time and energy to wonder why they are like that. Stop wondering why people behave the way they do. Stop wondering why people do the things they do. Stop wondering why people say or don’t say the things they say or don't say. Stop wondering why things happen that way and no other. Stop wondering why I'm so successful at this and such a disaster at that. Stop wondering why.
Why ask why? My Wondering Neurone has been in overdrive for too long. Can you shut it down Bridge? Can you accept things as they are? Can you let go without dissecting? Can you just let it be? You like personal challenges, girlfriend, here’s a good one for you.
(No worries, I often talk to myself…my psychiatrist says it’s normal. All the people in my head say so too.)
Thursday, February 08, 2007
All Things Great and Small
Loukhi is growing and thriving. Unfortunately, due no doubt to an early childhood trauma, she can't stand to be picked up. She squirms and claws her way out until you all but drop her. Otherwise, she's friendly and cuddly as can be, and her tiny diesel is a regular vibration against me as I fall asleep.
SYWRD came for a visit. I think I'll never get a chance to get to know him better and I, the girl who doesn't Believe in regrets, will always deeply regret that. My email remained un-acknowledged but that part belongs to him. I will neither argue, insist, nor speculate... but I'll always regret it profondément.
Something wonderful happened to the Terror, a.k.a. the Papou, a.k.a. my son. I had long ago applied to the Big Brothers of Canada program to find him a big brother. The waiting was so long (years) I had all but given up. But suddenly it came through and he's been teamed up with a Big Brother. We met Him for the first time last Monday night and the two seem to hit it off pretty well. Yannick was so keen, and delighted, and eager, and thrilled, and shy, it was pretty heart-wrenching. I hope it will work out for them, I'll do everything in MY power to make it so but I won't be involved much, it's their show.
I've pretty much stopped talking about TLM, first because there isn't that much to tell but also because I realized this was one area I feel private about. Sorry for interrupting the soap, my Southern Chinese readers. Hey, you never know when he might pop back up. Keep the faith.
Finally, I seem to come out of my physical plateau-ing. Improvement is on it's way again. Last night, we were doing abs and while some other girls were groaning in pain and I realized that I myself could have actually gone on for quite a while. What a good feeling! Bring them on!
SYWRD came for a visit. I think I'll never get a chance to get to know him better and I, the girl who doesn't Believe in regrets, will always deeply regret that. My email remained un-acknowledged but that part belongs to him. I will neither argue, insist, nor speculate... but I'll always regret it profondément.
Something wonderful happened to the Terror, a.k.a. the Papou, a.k.a. my son. I had long ago applied to the Big Brothers of Canada program to find him a big brother. The waiting was so long (years) I had all but given up. But suddenly it came through and he's been teamed up with a Big Brother. We met Him for the first time last Monday night and the two seem to hit it off pretty well. Yannick was so keen, and delighted, and eager, and thrilled, and shy, it was pretty heart-wrenching. I hope it will work out for them, I'll do everything in MY power to make it so but I won't be involved much, it's their show.
I've pretty much stopped talking about TLM, first because there isn't that much to tell but also because I realized this was one area I feel private about. Sorry for interrupting the soap, my Southern Chinese readers. Hey, you never know when he might pop back up. Keep the faith.
Finally, I seem to come out of my physical plateau-ing. Improvement is on it's way again. Last night, we were doing abs and while some other girls were groaning in pain and I realized that I myself could have actually gone on for quite a while. What a good feeling! Bring them on!
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Nothing To Declare
A better day than yesterday, although that was not hard to beat!
After burning myself up at the gym, I slept like a baby and my spirits improved greatly.
I've been offered the role of co-Master of Ceremony for the next conference I'm helping organize. It's the kind of personal challenge I will probably not be able to resist, even though my first instinct is to run. Since I'm rather afraid of doing it, it will most likely seal my acceptance. Besides, it will give me something concrete to focus on, because my motivation on this project is under the weather for reasons I cannot expand on.
I feel mischievous, a state which usually results in practical jokes. Somebody tie me up.
Tomorrow, my brand new, super comfortable, luxurious, and hopefully sinful bed will be delivered. Can’t wait to stretch on it and roll over without springs loudly complaining. I bet I’m going to become real popular with the cats for a while! (Of course, I’m kidding. I’m ALWAYS popular with the cats. My head is quite swollen about it.)
Tonight, another three hours of sweating scheduled. Life CAN be good. Thanks for putting a good word in for me Miss C!
After burning myself up at the gym, I slept like a baby and my spirits improved greatly.
I've been offered the role of co-Master of Ceremony for the next conference I'm helping organize. It's the kind of personal challenge I will probably not be able to resist, even though my first instinct is to run. Since I'm rather afraid of doing it, it will most likely seal my acceptance. Besides, it will give me something concrete to focus on, because my motivation on this project is under the weather for reasons I cannot expand on.
I feel mischievous, a state which usually results in practical jokes. Somebody tie me up.
Tomorrow, my brand new, super comfortable, luxurious, and hopefully sinful bed will be delivered. Can’t wait to stretch on it and roll over without springs loudly complaining. I bet I’m going to become real popular with the cats for a while! (Of course, I’m kidding. I’m ALWAYS popular with the cats. My head is quite swollen about it.)
Tonight, another three hours of sweating scheduled. Life CAN be good. Thanks for putting a good word in for me Miss C!
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
And the band played on
Today sucked, just like I feared it would except somewhat worse. Then I got home to find my son screaming at the top of his lungs in an all out fit of temper. I walked straight back out the door.
Workout and spinning. I pushed it. I pushed it until my legs shook, until my vision dimmed, until I was so tired even getting OFF the bike seemed like a lot.
Bath. Dodo.
Workout and spinning. I pushed it. I pushed it until my legs shook, until my vision dimmed, until I was so tired even getting OFF the bike seemed like a lot.
Bath. Dodo.
Monday, February 05, 2007
Sunshine, Cold Air and Happiness
Saturday was a magical day, full of unexpected events. I got up that morning without a clue of what was in store for me. I went to bed that night filled with happiness, the kind that I will store away and savour for weeks to come.
It's hard, when you've been so high, not to sort of crash down afterwards. I hope this week will not be too brutal an awakening. Go on, Life, now's the time to prove me that you won't make me pay an exhorbitant price for every minute of happiness you bestowed on me. Come on, Life, give me a wonderful week and perhaps I'll consider trusting you again.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Of Sheep and Men
I’m not the only one who’s uneasy about life’s lack of coherence. I’m currently reading “D’où viens-tu berger?” by Mathyas Lefebure.
Mathyas was a young, successful, wealthy advertising executive in an agency called Cossette, in Montreal. I happen to know it well. I’ve worked in film advertising for years. I know some of this man’s colleagues. Advertising uses a mother lore of often young, very creative and extremely brilliant people. There lies the paradox. They are way too brilliant not to be struck by the futility of their work. It’s an awareness they all have, and some deal with it better than others.
Mathyas decided to give it all up and become a sheep shepherd in Southern France. The book tells of his experience.
It rings many bells for me. I know exactly the milieu and lifestyle he gave up. But I also grew up in Provence. Let’s say I can relate to both where he came from and where he went.
Johnny Depp, who chooses to live in France, often says that North-Americans have forgotten how to live. Indeed, life in Europe is on another beat and in small villages, it’s another planet altogether.
There’s also the fact that my father had this lifelong fantasy of giving it all up and becoming a shepherd, exactly like Mathyas did. My father was a dreamer and this lifestyle was his Utopia. It took me years to realize that he was dreaming out loud, and that the dreams themselves were fulfilling enough to sustain him. It wasn’t about doing it. It was about dreaming about it, and polishing the dream like a well-loved object.
I waited for years for us to move to a small village so I could go to the market, riding a small donkey, to the Saturday morning fair. I believed every bit of it. When I finally stopped believing, in my teens, I grew older.
I remember a time, back in France, when people sat around a table and talked at leisure. People sat in the bistros and talked. I see myself sitting at a café, on the Cours Mirabeau in Aix, watching people strolling by, and being more entertained by their variety, and personalities, and idiosyncrasies then by a 50 million Hollywood action movie.
This capacity to take the time to savor the moment and the beauty around you, I once knew it, once had it. Here, I cannot conjure it back.
Being torn between worlds is not so bad. But I’m still waiting for coherence.
Watching and waiting…for what?
I hear echoes of bleating, rusted neck bells, and crickets’ song in dry grass.
Monday, January 29, 2007
Standing Still
I am one who runs away by throwing myself forward, headlong, burning my bridges to make sure turning back is not an option, jumping without a chute to find out if I can fly. If I can’t, I learn about broken bones. Motion is the key no matter what the cost.
I used to have a print out of a learning curve taped to my desk. It’s a jagged line except for intervals where the line becomes perfectly horizontal. Those are called plateaux. They’re part of every learning process, training process, living process. They are the times when you stand still, neither making progress nor regressing.
I feel like I’m plateau-ing these days. My body mass won’t budge. I’m maintaining my level in training but seeing zero improvement. My life is a statu quo. I am standing still. I am going nowhere, aiming for nothing, just living. It is not peaceful or rewarding. It’s just plain weird.
I am not complaining about it, merely observing it. Standing still is very unusual and uncomfortable for me. Normally, I run away forward. This time I’m not. This time, I’m experiencing stillness, wondering at it but tolerating the discomfort. I’ve no idea what comes next.
This weekend, I bought a bed. I love cats and sleeping, combined if possible. Both cats and sleeping require a decent bed. Mine was old and creaky and overdue. I bought a new one which should be delivered in about two weeks, much to my son’s chagrin since he was quite ready and willing to start jumping on it right away. I’ve finished paying for my car this year, now I can start paying for my bed. I accept donations. I will be poor but imbedded. Short of living in the lap of luxury, I will sleep in it. Guests will be welcome. Just drop me a line.
I used to have a print out of a learning curve taped to my desk. It’s a jagged line except for intervals where the line becomes perfectly horizontal. Those are called plateaux. They’re part of every learning process, training process, living process. They are the times when you stand still, neither making progress nor regressing.
I feel like I’m plateau-ing these days. My body mass won’t budge. I’m maintaining my level in training but seeing zero improvement. My life is a statu quo. I am standing still. I am going nowhere, aiming for nothing, just living. It is not peaceful or rewarding. It’s just plain weird.
I am not complaining about it, merely observing it. Standing still is very unusual and uncomfortable for me. Normally, I run away forward. This time I’m not. This time, I’m experiencing stillness, wondering at it but tolerating the discomfort. I’ve no idea what comes next.
This weekend, I bought a bed. I love cats and sleeping, combined if possible. Both cats and sleeping require a decent bed. Mine was old and creaky and overdue. I bought a new one which should be delivered in about two weeks, much to my son’s chagrin since he was quite ready and willing to start jumping on it right away. I’ve finished paying for my car this year, now I can start paying for my bed. I accept donations. I will be poor but imbedded. Short of living in the lap of luxury, I will sleep in it. Guests will be welcome. Just drop me a line.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Friday, January 19, 2007
Women and Men
I will be in Toronto Monday through Wednesday. Checking out the hotel (Delta) I was very surprised to see I was allowed to bring my pet! How cool is that?
Will I bring my pet? Well no, but I'm telling you, we're getting closer to hotels loaning or renting out pets to traveling owners who are missing theirs. Mark my words. Then it's just a short hop to pets being allowed in the workplace and then BINGO! Happiness and Productivity. There will be special pet-free floors for the handicapped, a.k.a. people who dislike animals or are allergic. And we'll all live happily ever after.
I started a lunchtime conversation/debate yesterday on the classic question of whether a man and a woman can be friends without an attraction at least on one side, which quickly veered to whether a man will have any close female friends that he's not somewhat attracted to, and veered again to the different expectations men and women have of s.e.x. (I put dots otherwise my bro is once again going to tell me that I'm gonna get all the perverts who do a search on that word.)
We were three girls, two straight guys and two homosexual guys. Five of those own fine brains. What a fascinating conversation! It was lively, funny, revealing and full of insights. I had a blast. Oh, the social fabric of our lives…eternal wonder.
If you ask why I exercise so much, I found the answer recently:
The advantage of exercising every day is that you die healthier...
...
I'll end with a quote from my favorite target:
"Free societies will be allies against these hateful few who have no conscience, who kill at the whim of a hat."
—President George W. Bush
Will I bring my pet? Well no, but I'm telling you, we're getting closer to hotels loaning or renting out pets to traveling owners who are missing theirs. Mark my words. Then it's just a short hop to pets being allowed in the workplace and then BINGO! Happiness and Productivity. There will be special pet-free floors for the handicapped, a.k.a. people who dislike animals or are allergic. And we'll all live happily ever after.
I started a lunchtime conversation/debate yesterday on the classic question of whether a man and a woman can be friends without an attraction at least on one side, which quickly veered to whether a man will have any close female friends that he's not somewhat attracted to, and veered again to the different expectations men and women have of s.e.x. (I put dots otherwise my bro is once again going to tell me that I'm gonna get all the perverts who do a search on that word.)
We were three girls, two straight guys and two homosexual guys. Five of those own fine brains. What a fascinating conversation! It was lively, funny, revealing and full of insights. I had a blast. Oh, the social fabric of our lives…eternal wonder.
If you ask why I exercise so much, I found the answer recently:
The advantage of exercising every day is that you die healthier...
...
I'll end with a quote from my favorite target:
"Free societies will be allies against these hateful few who have no conscience, who kill at the whim of a hat."
—President George W. Bush
Thursday, January 18, 2007
On Bacteria and Money
Gosh, it's so hard getting up this week! This morning, my clock must have ringed for about thirty seconds before I finally emerged from my vivid dream (which I won't tell you about because you don't care).
I did the 3-classes-in-a-row thing yesterday, but perhaps because it's the beginning of a new session, the classes were so easy I actually had to put my sweater back on, I was getting cold. Cardio didn't budge much but I console myself by thinking I must have been right into the so-called fat burning zone at moderate intensity. I sure can use a few hours of fat burning zone!
I'm still trying to find a solution to my sport-bras problem. These wonderful synthetic materials are great, they support well, and they won't hold the sweat against you like cotton does. Therefore, companies think they are justified in selling them between 40 and 60 dollars each! I think that's ridiculously expensive. I work out at least four times a week, I need at least four of those and I don't have time to do washing during the week. Do the math. Still, I could manage all that. But THEN, sweat has bacteria, and the bras start developing a bad smell after a while of intensive use. No matter how much you wash them after that point, they smell bad again after ten minutes of wearing them. So I am faced with just throwing away my 50$ sport-bras after only about six months of use. How ridiculous and expensive is that?
I've tried the Febreeze antibacterial spray on them. Doesn't work. I looked for the "Win" detergent supposed to solve that problem. They don't sell it in Canada.
Faced with throwing away three of them, this weekend I'm trying my last resort: bleach soaking. I'm desperate. If anybody out there has faced and conquered that problem, PLEASE share!
I think it's poposterous that I should pay four hundred dollars a year in sport-bras just because I don't have a Y in my genes. That's just discrimination! They should GIVE away sport-bras since women need them through no fault of their own... or at least keep them at a ridiculously affordable price, which should also apply to sanitary products and men's shaving stuff. Dream on Brig.
Then, you add up a new pair of good shoes every six months, which, of course, I'm due for… perhaps I should take up knitting and save a ton of money…
These were my greedy, mercantile considerations of the week. Thank you for watching.
I did the 3-classes-in-a-row thing yesterday, but perhaps because it's the beginning of a new session, the classes were so easy I actually had to put my sweater back on, I was getting cold. Cardio didn't budge much but I console myself by thinking I must have been right into the so-called fat burning zone at moderate intensity. I sure can use a few hours of fat burning zone!
I'm still trying to find a solution to my sport-bras problem. These wonderful synthetic materials are great, they support well, and they won't hold the sweat against you like cotton does. Therefore, companies think they are justified in selling them between 40 and 60 dollars each! I think that's ridiculously expensive. I work out at least four times a week, I need at least four of those and I don't have time to do washing during the week. Do the math. Still, I could manage all that. But THEN, sweat has bacteria, and the bras start developing a bad smell after a while of intensive use. No matter how much you wash them after that point, they smell bad again after ten minutes of wearing them. So I am faced with just throwing away my 50$ sport-bras after only about six months of use. How ridiculous and expensive is that?
I've tried the Febreeze antibacterial spray on them. Doesn't work. I looked for the "Win" detergent supposed to solve that problem. They don't sell it in Canada.
Faced with throwing away three of them, this weekend I'm trying my last resort: bleach soaking. I'm desperate. If anybody out there has faced and conquered that problem, PLEASE share!
I think it's poposterous that I should pay four hundred dollars a year in sport-bras just because I don't have a Y in my genes. That's just discrimination! They should GIVE away sport-bras since women need them through no fault of their own... or at least keep them at a ridiculously affordable price, which should also apply to sanitary products and men's shaving stuff. Dream on Brig.
Then, you add up a new pair of good shoes every six months, which, of course, I'm due for… perhaps I should take up knitting and save a ton of money…
These were my greedy, mercantile considerations of the week. Thank you for watching.
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
No Words
Winter has landed. The eager snowploughs, chomping at the bit, quickly entrenched unsuspecting cars behind walls of snow. Fur coats have come out of hibernation. The world is white again, no racism implied.
I can't write, for the life of me, I can't write. I cannot write about this very late supper with friends and the confidences I received around 3 am, raising disturbing images best left shrouded.
I cannot write about adapting my expectations to reality, about being disappointed but not being crushed, about accepting to not understand.
I cannot write about a life with no particular crisis, with plenty on the agenda ahead, flowing like the river that has not frozen yet. It's like emotions have been suspended. I can't write without emotions. I'm still here.
Right now, I'm watching neutrally, patiently, dispassionately. I’m watching you. And you. And you. Just watching, while I water my flowers and sip on my coffee.
I can't write, for the life of me, I can't write. I cannot write about this very late supper with friends and the confidences I received around 3 am, raising disturbing images best left shrouded.
I cannot write about adapting my expectations to reality, about being disappointed but not being crushed, about accepting to not understand.
I cannot write about a life with no particular crisis, with plenty on the agenda ahead, flowing like the river that has not frozen yet. It's like emotions have been suspended. I can't write without emotions. I'm still here.
Right now, I'm watching neutrally, patiently, dispassionately. I’m watching you. And you. And you. Just watching, while I water my flowers and sip on my coffee.
Friday, January 12, 2007
Dreamworld
Dear Subconscious,
When I decide that I'm giving up on someone, I don't like when you bring him back in my dreams, especially when you make him nicer than he ever was in real life. It pisses me off. I thought I'd let you know.
Sincerely yours,
Brigitte
When I decide that I'm giving up on someone, I don't like when you bring him back in my dreams, especially when you make him nicer than he ever was in real life. It pisses me off. I thought I'd let you know.
Sincerely yours,
Brigitte
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Snowstorm!
We FINALLY had a snowstorm yesterday evening. What a sight! Large snowflakes swirling everywhere, visibility down to a few feet…all covered in white. It was awesome!
It happened precisely between 18:03 and 18:06. At 18:08, when I reached the gym, it was over and there was no snow left on the ground. But for a few minutes, MAN!...
Monday, January 08, 2007
Why I'm glad I've no Y
Girls are wonderful. Girls talk about anything, including "feelings" and "personal life". That's the way they relate and bond with each other.
I had a conversation with a male friend who basically demonstrated how his absence of tact and empathy were really caused by his deep unease towards anything that has to do with feelings. It's not that he is heartless, it's that emotions make him so damn uncomfortable that he'll take any way out rather than have to deal with them. And often, even though he's an intelligent being, his way out will leaves much to desire. Ok, granted, he's a bit of an extreme case, thank god.
Then take my latest conversation with my hairdresser. Anybody who's familiar with the length of my hair knows that my hairdresser is not my bosom friend. I've seen her twice in the past year and a half and I didn't know her before that. We started chatting while she fought with my hair and before I knew it, I was asking her very personal, direct questions to which she was giving very personal, direct answers. She was a near-total stranger. By the time my hair was dry (two hours later), I knew that she was about to leave her husband, that she had taken a lover, that that was a lot to manage. She knew about TLM and that I had never cheated on my husband. I suppose guys will laugh at that. But we were sharing, we were relating to each other and we felt like friends when we parted. It was not gossip at all. It was two women close in age comparing experiences. It felt so good!
I find it so rewarding to talk about the real stuff instead of having to skirt and thread lightly around issues because men are not comfortable talking about them!
I'm just glad I'm a girl.
I had a conversation with a male friend who basically demonstrated how his absence of tact and empathy were really caused by his deep unease towards anything that has to do with feelings. It's not that he is heartless, it's that emotions make him so damn uncomfortable that he'll take any way out rather than have to deal with them. And often, even though he's an intelligent being, his way out will leaves much to desire. Ok, granted, he's a bit of an extreme case, thank god.
Then take my latest conversation with my hairdresser. Anybody who's familiar with the length of my hair knows that my hairdresser is not my bosom friend. I've seen her twice in the past year and a half and I didn't know her before that. We started chatting while she fought with my hair and before I knew it, I was asking her very personal, direct questions to which she was giving very personal, direct answers. She was a near-total stranger. By the time my hair was dry (two hours later), I knew that she was about to leave her husband, that she had taken a lover, that that was a lot to manage. She knew about TLM and that I had never cheated on my husband. I suppose guys will laugh at that. But we were sharing, we were relating to each other and we felt like friends when we parted. It was not gossip at all. It was two women close in age comparing experiences. It felt so good!
I find it so rewarding to talk about the real stuff instead of having to skirt and thread lightly around issues because men are not comfortable talking about them!
I'm just glad I'm a girl.
Friday, January 05, 2007
TGIF
And so ends my first week back, back to work, back to the gym. It's busy at work, which is the best way to be. It's sore at the gym and my body is in a kind of shock. I hear it: "Man, you crazy? What was THAT? You trying to kill me?... And WHY is the rum gone?"
I’ve never quite understood why my body speaks to me with a Bahamian accent.
Miss Loukhi feels right at home. She throws herself fearlessly on Fatso for flash attacks and they wrestle and love it, the flea and the elephant. Fatso needed that, since Grumpy refuses to play. All Grumpy does is hiss, spit and run when faced with friendly overtures like claws deep in her flesh.
Last night I came home and Fatso and Loukhi were sleeping together. They lifted their heads, smiling and blinking their eyes sleepily, with an "Hey, what's up?" look. I started petting both at once and was rewarded by a double purr. The three of us stood there perfectly happy for a few precious minutes.
I read year reviews and New Year resolutions on various blogs. I'm afraid I failed to do either.
Let's see. I start this new year determined. Determined to be alive, to miss no occasion. Determined to take chances, to be genuine, and to laugh and smile every time I can. I enjoy humor but I had not realized how precious laughter is until my co-worker died. This week, I had several chances to laugh and I thought of her, who laughed a lot, and suddenly, laughter was …important.
I think of her at night, and I wonder: "Where are you now, D. where are you now?" I know no other human being has ever wondered that before. I'm deeply original.
I haven't been to the movies in ages but I will go and see "The Painted Veil" within the month. There's my resolution. Oh and brother? "Bon Cop Bad Cop" was grossly overrated. :)
I’ve never quite understood why my body speaks to me with a Bahamian accent.
Miss Loukhi feels right at home. She throws herself fearlessly on Fatso for flash attacks and they wrestle and love it, the flea and the elephant. Fatso needed that, since Grumpy refuses to play. All Grumpy does is hiss, spit and run when faced with friendly overtures like claws deep in her flesh.
Last night I came home and Fatso and Loukhi were sleeping together. They lifted their heads, smiling and blinking their eyes sleepily, with an "Hey, what's up?" look. I started petting both at once and was rewarded by a double purr. The three of us stood there perfectly happy for a few precious minutes.
I read year reviews and New Year resolutions on various blogs. I'm afraid I failed to do either.
Let's see. I start this new year determined. Determined to be alive, to miss no occasion. Determined to take chances, to be genuine, and to laugh and smile every time I can. I enjoy humor but I had not realized how precious laughter is until my co-worker died. This week, I had several chances to laugh and I thought of her, who laughed a lot, and suddenly, laughter was …important.
I think of her at night, and I wonder: "Where are you now, D. where are you now?" I know no other human being has ever wondered that before. I'm deeply original.
I haven't been to the movies in ages but I will go and see "The Painted Veil" within the month. There's my resolution. Oh and brother? "Bon Cop Bad Cop" was grossly overrated. :)
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Walking
On New Year's day, I decided to go for a walk. Ipod firmly in place, I set out with no particular goal, just wanting to walk. The wind was very strong, white-capping the river. In my bulky winter jacket, I was about as aerodynamic as a tank but I was full of energy and walking at a brisk pace.
When you walk without a fixed destination, you go wherever your steps take you. First I crossed the bridge, and then went up the hill. The mountain was looming above me, white and grey. Resistance was futile, as I believe the Vogons mentioned before. So up I went. Once on the mountain, I shut down my Ipod and the sound of the roaring wind and falling water filled my ears.
All around me, it looked like the thawing forest in Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The climb was steep and I was reminded that the most exercise I had taken in ten days was lifting a glass to my lips (ok, many) and a book to my eyes (ok, many). In no time, I was sweating heavily, completely soaking up the t-shirt I had on. I own four of those wonderful synthetic shirts that keep the moisture away from you. I just thought I'd mention it. Just owning some doesn't necessarily mean you're bright enough to wear them, right? Well a wet t-shirt sucks. Thankfully, I had enough layers covering it to not have to worry about the cold.
I climbed on and on, still not worried about any destination. I passed crossroads. The world was silent and empty around me. Eventually, I reached some signs. They said: Parking 2.2 km and Pain de sucre 1.1 km. By that time, my heart was back within my rib cage. I still felt strong. Although I knew it would be steep, what's 1.1 km? And to the right I veered, now aiming for the mountain’s highest peak (yeah, ok, we're not talking Everest here).
The ground was a mixture of ice, half-melted snow, rocks and roots. There was no sure footing and the going was hard. The last 0.3 km felt worse than the whole rest of the climb, but huffing, puffing and sweating, I finally reached the top.
The weather was nasty up there, the wind icy. Turning my back to it, I got my cell phone out (never leave home without it). It beeped, flashed CHARGE BATTERY and turned itself right back off. Let me amend: never leave your effing home without your effing cell phone charged to the effing max. I was still prepared. My pockets still held my Ipod (charged), my keys (car is approximately seven km away in a straight line), my bank card (never leave home without it) and several dollar coins. After all, pay phones were invented way before cell phones. Of course, the nearest pay phone stood about three km of heavy terrain away.
I started back down and quickly realized the way down would be much trickier than up: still no sure footing, but gravity now tugging hard at my five feet ten. My progress was so slow I figured I'd be back home around six that night. My foot hit a rock hidden in the snow and a shot of pain went up my ankle. I stopped. I'm alone on the mountain, three km away from help, and my cell phone is dead. Spraining an ankle is NOT an option, I decided. Keep walking.
After several near-misses, I slipped almost elegantly and slid down several feet on bare ice. I came to a stop with what is gracefully called my buttocks area sitting in a pool of melted snow. I got up, squeezed the water out of my jeans and went on. Eventually, the terrain evened out and although I still had to deal with ice, melted snow and rocks, I was no longer climbing down but walking. It became easier.
I finally reached the parking lot and a pay phone. I called home just to let them know that I wasn't lost in the wild suburbs and then started on the ten km that would bring me home. By that time, my hip flexors were screaming obscenities at me. When I crossed the bridge again, I honestly wasn't exactly "enjoying my walk" anymore. I was walking fast, with a mechanical purpose: getting home! When I reached it, I looked at my watch: I had been walking non-stop for four hours, covered an estimated twenty km, a third of that in rough, hilly terrain. I was hurting about everywhere I could think of except the top of my left ear. But it was nice to know it could be done. It's all about pushing limits, isn't it?
(Now if I hear a single marathonian or triathlonian snigger, you're dead meat. I know you guys would have probably ran the whole thing. Hey, to each his/her challenge dammit.)
When you walk without a fixed destination, you go wherever your steps take you. First I crossed the bridge, and then went up the hill. The mountain was looming above me, white and grey. Resistance was futile, as I believe the Vogons mentioned before. So up I went. Once on the mountain, I shut down my Ipod and the sound of the roaring wind and falling water filled my ears.
All around me, it looked like the thawing forest in Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. The climb was steep and I was reminded that the most exercise I had taken in ten days was lifting a glass to my lips (ok, many) and a book to my eyes (ok, many). In no time, I was sweating heavily, completely soaking up the t-shirt I had on. I own four of those wonderful synthetic shirts that keep the moisture away from you. I just thought I'd mention it. Just owning some doesn't necessarily mean you're bright enough to wear them, right? Well a wet t-shirt sucks. Thankfully, I had enough layers covering it to not have to worry about the cold.
I climbed on and on, still not worried about any destination. I passed crossroads. The world was silent and empty around me. Eventually, I reached some signs. They said: Parking 2.2 km and Pain de sucre 1.1 km. By that time, my heart was back within my rib cage. I still felt strong. Although I knew it would be steep, what's 1.1 km? And to the right I veered, now aiming for the mountain’s highest peak (yeah, ok, we're not talking Everest here).
The ground was a mixture of ice, half-melted snow, rocks and roots. There was no sure footing and the going was hard. The last 0.3 km felt worse than the whole rest of the climb, but huffing, puffing and sweating, I finally reached the top.
The weather was nasty up there, the wind icy. Turning my back to it, I got my cell phone out (never leave home without it). It beeped, flashed CHARGE BATTERY and turned itself right back off. Let me amend: never leave your effing home without your effing cell phone charged to the effing max. I was still prepared. My pockets still held my Ipod (charged), my keys (car is approximately seven km away in a straight line), my bank card (never leave home without it) and several dollar coins. After all, pay phones were invented way before cell phones. Of course, the nearest pay phone stood about three km of heavy terrain away.
I started back down and quickly realized the way down would be much trickier than up: still no sure footing, but gravity now tugging hard at my five feet ten. My progress was so slow I figured I'd be back home around six that night. My foot hit a rock hidden in the snow and a shot of pain went up my ankle. I stopped. I'm alone on the mountain, three km away from help, and my cell phone is dead. Spraining an ankle is NOT an option, I decided. Keep walking.
After several near-misses, I slipped almost elegantly and slid down several feet on bare ice. I came to a stop with what is gracefully called my buttocks area sitting in a pool of melted snow. I got up, squeezed the water out of my jeans and went on. Eventually, the terrain evened out and although I still had to deal with ice, melted snow and rocks, I was no longer climbing down but walking. It became easier.
I finally reached the parking lot and a pay phone. I called home just to let them know that I wasn't lost in the wild suburbs and then started on the ten km that would bring me home. By that time, my hip flexors were screaming obscenities at me. When I crossed the bridge again, I honestly wasn't exactly "enjoying my walk" anymore. I was walking fast, with a mechanical purpose: getting home! When I reached it, I looked at my watch: I had been walking non-stop for four hours, covered an estimated twenty km, a third of that in rough, hilly terrain. I was hurting about everywhere I could think of except the top of my left ear. But it was nice to know it could be done. It's all about pushing limits, isn't it?
(Now if I hear a single marathonian or triathlonian snigger, you're dead meat. I know you guys would have probably ran the whole thing. Hey, to each his/her challenge dammit.)
Sunday, December 31, 2006
Bonne Année
Loukhi
Grumpy
Loukhi and Fatso******
To all my readers, loved ones and strangers,
Happy Year 2007,
May your children be healthy
May you be open to change
May you live daringly
May you be alive every minute of this new year.
With endless love, from Brigitte
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Nighttime
I can't sleep. I can't sleep. So I get up but I'm not dressed and it's cold. I start shivering. The house, dark and silent, surrounds me with well-known obstacles. A darker inkblot on Bondi's couch signals that Grumpy is curled up for the night. Somewhere in the living room, a miniature Darth Vader and a fat Skywalker have signed a temporary truce and lie peacefully in a heap of paws and whiskers. The Christmas tree stands up straight and proud in the darkness but nothing shimmers, twinkles, nor sparkles.
I sit on the couch, hugging my knees, trying to stay warm.
Somewhere in a little town of France, a rooster is calling out the first daylight. The baker's street is already fragrant. A man is rolling up the steel shutters of the Café de la Place, and it smells like fresh coffee and croissants.
Somewhere in Asia, an overcrowded city drenched in sunshine is bustling with activity.
Not sleeping isn't half bad. I wish I could stop thinking. The mind is stripped of all pretences and illusions at this hour. It is deadly sharp and clear. But it talks only of failures and shortcomings.
Outside, a thin snow is falling and has finally whitened my world.
Later on, I dream of a friendly Jeff Probst and a game of Survivor. Our boat leaves with the ladder still trailing in the water. "They don't know any better and they're not strong enough to lift it," I think. "I'll do it."
I sit on the couch, hugging my knees, trying to stay warm.
Somewhere in a little town of France, a rooster is calling out the first daylight. The baker's street is already fragrant. A man is rolling up the steel shutters of the Café de la Place, and it smells like fresh coffee and croissants.
Somewhere in Asia, an overcrowded city drenched in sunshine is bustling with activity.
Not sleeping isn't half bad. I wish I could stop thinking. The mind is stripped of all pretences and illusions at this hour. It is deadly sharp and clear. But it talks only of failures and shortcomings.
Outside, a thin snow is falling and has finally whitened my world.
Later on, I dream of a friendly Jeff Probst and a game of Survivor. Our boat leaves with the ladder still trailing in the water. "They don't know any better and they're not strong enough to lift it," I think. "I'll do it."
Saturday, December 23, 2006
I Don't Get Me
All systems are go. Every last present has been wrapped. Most wishes have been sent. Christmas? Bring it on!
Now I'm going to lay down on this couch and address myself to all you counselors out there.
I love parties. I adore my family. Could someone explain to me why I have this overwhelming reluctance to join parties and family gatherings? At first, I’m all thrilled and enthusiastic. When it becomes imminent, suddenly, I don’t want to go anymore. “Something” happens in my head and I turn into an anti-social, elusive and rude being, breaking all the rules of love, friendship and politeness. There’s suddenly a little rebel that takes over inside and digs its heels and says: “I shall not go.” I don’t know how to fight it because I don’t understand it. And I don’t think it’s healthy for me to shy away from social gatherings! The strange thing is parties or gatherings where it’s mostly strangers (like in my boyfriends’ family or friends) don’t bother me! I do NOT get it.
So, of course, the Christmas extended family diner is already being warmly debated in my head. The lure of a peaceful evening ALONE, something I never get, is already very strong.
If anybody has any insight, please send me your bill. Well, send me your insight first, your bill second.
Eggnog and Bailey’s for everybody (or whatever floats your boat)!
I'll end with one of my favorite joke:
What should a wife do when her husband is running in zig-zag in the garden?
(answer tomorrow)
Now I'm going to lay down on this couch and address myself to all you counselors out there.
I love parties. I adore my family. Could someone explain to me why I have this overwhelming reluctance to join parties and family gatherings? At first, I’m all thrilled and enthusiastic. When it becomes imminent, suddenly, I don’t want to go anymore. “Something” happens in my head and I turn into an anti-social, elusive and rude being, breaking all the rules of love, friendship and politeness. There’s suddenly a little rebel that takes over inside and digs its heels and says: “I shall not go.” I don’t know how to fight it because I don’t understand it. And I don’t think it’s healthy for me to shy away from social gatherings! The strange thing is parties or gatherings where it’s mostly strangers (like in my boyfriends’ family or friends) don’t bother me! I do NOT get it.
So, of course, the Christmas extended family diner is already being warmly debated in my head. The lure of a peaceful evening ALONE, something I never get, is already very strong.
If anybody has any insight, please send me your bill. Well, send me your insight first, your bill second.
Eggnog and Bailey’s for everybody (or whatever floats your boat)!
I'll end with one of my favorite joke:
What should a wife do when her husband is running in zig-zag in the garden?
(answer tomorrow)
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Euphoria
And I am....OFFFFFFFFF for six days!
Still not a flake of snow on the ground. Very odd looking.
Loukhi got officially baptised, à son corps défendant. Indeed, she fell in a full bath tub. If you've ever seen a six inches long black fur ball in full panic mode, that was it. Afterwards, she was nothing but a humid kitten for a while. Poor baby. Heh. Live and learn.
Did I mention my being off? As in, on holidays? Like, not working? Like nothing to do but drink, wrap, and unwrap presents? And eat outrageously until December 26, at which time proper nourishment and training kicks back in. And alcohol detox starts. Because let's face it, I'm an excessive type of person. Just like I love excessively and train, well, seriously. I drink, well, abundantly, when I give myself permission to. But I will hardly touch a drink between January and May, serious training time.
Yeah, I'm aiming for a minimum of eight hours of exercise per week. And I still feel like the wimpiest wimp, because my close friend is a triathlonian. Everything is relative, said the white-haired genious.
The new session, starting January 15, will hold a new challenge for me. After the spinning session following the workout session, here comes the three classes in a row (3 hours) workout. On Wednesdays only. I expect not to be able to finish, at first, and gradually work to finishing while still looking human, instead of something the cat brought in. I need new shoes, AGAIN, because at the rate I'm going, my shoes hardly last me six months.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and gloat because I'm off for six days...
Still not a flake of snow on the ground. Very odd looking.
Loukhi got officially baptised, à son corps défendant. Indeed, she fell in a full bath tub. If you've ever seen a six inches long black fur ball in full panic mode, that was it. Afterwards, she was nothing but a humid kitten for a while. Poor baby. Heh. Live and learn.
Did I mention my being off? As in, on holidays? Like, not working? Like nothing to do but drink, wrap, and unwrap presents? And eat outrageously until December 26, at which time proper nourishment and training kicks back in. And alcohol detox starts. Because let's face it, I'm an excessive type of person. Just like I love excessively and train, well, seriously. I drink, well, abundantly, when I give myself permission to. But I will hardly touch a drink between January and May, serious training time.
Yeah, I'm aiming for a minimum of eight hours of exercise per week. And I still feel like the wimpiest wimp, because my close friend is a triathlonian. Everything is relative, said the white-haired genious.
The new session, starting January 15, will hold a new challenge for me. After the spinning session following the workout session, here comes the three classes in a row (3 hours) workout. On Wednesdays only. I expect not to be able to finish, at first, and gradually work to finishing while still looking human, instead of something the cat brought in. I need new shoes, AGAIN, because at the rate I'm going, my shoes hardly last me six months.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go and gloat because I'm off for six days...
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Blasphemous Rumours
I don't want to start
Any blasphemerous rumours
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humour
And when I die
I expect to find him
Laughing
Depeche Mode
Any blasphemerous rumours
But I think that God's
Got a sick sense of humour
And when I die
I expect to find him
Laughing
Depeche Mode
Yo! Ho!...and a bottle of rhum!
This morning, I had a dream I have chronically. I hear an airplane and I look up to see not one airplane but a sky full of them, different aircrafts flying in formation. We're going to war or we're being invaded, either way, the meaning is the same: imminent doom. I know I have to get to my loved ones quickly and they're usually all over the place. This morning my brother was with me, but my mother wasn't answering the phone in France and I couldn't find my son. The anguish and urgency are overwhelming. Then I wake up, frazzled.
Who needs movies when you can live this suspense and horror in the comfort of your own bed?
There's a man on the train...early forties, clean cut, rather good looking short man. Non-descript, really, because on my train, people dress well, smell good, read Dan Brown and talk about the office. There could be a banner on the train that says: "Well-to-do, suburban home owners and career white people only".
This man carries around a half-size bottle of brown rhum and takes one to three casual sips from it during the fourty minutes train commute. He does that on the 16h30 train. I have yet to find out if he does it on the morning train as well. His friends seem to consider it as normal as if it were a bottle of water and he himself is terribly casual, never furtive in his movements. He just pulls out his rhum, deep in conversation, takes a small sip and puts it back in his leather coat…I cannot explain how odd and out of place.
I take a minute to think about all it implies…and I shiver.
Fatso is coming around to Loukhi beautifully. Grumpy still has some way to go… Two more work days!!
Who needs movies when you can live this suspense and horror in the comfort of your own bed?
There's a man on the train...early forties, clean cut, rather good looking short man. Non-descript, really, because on my train, people dress well, smell good, read Dan Brown and talk about the office. There could be a banner on the train that says: "Well-to-do, suburban home owners and career white people only".
This man carries around a half-size bottle of brown rhum and takes one to three casual sips from it during the fourty minutes train commute. He does that on the 16h30 train. I have yet to find out if he does it on the morning train as well. His friends seem to consider it as normal as if it were a bottle of water and he himself is terribly casual, never furtive in his movements. He just pulls out his rhum, deep in conversation, takes a small sip and puts it back in his leather coat…I cannot explain how odd and out of place.
I take a minute to think about all it implies…and I shiver.
Fatso is coming around to Loukhi beautifully. Grumpy still has some way to go… Two more work days!!
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