Angels Make Contact

My little ole brain is working triple-time this week. The dreams are beyond insane. I can’t even believe the freaking people showing up in them. It’s like everyone I ever had a conversation with in my life and then twice as many people that I’ve never laid eyes on before. It’s exhausting. I wake up more tired than when I went to bed, if that’s possible. I think I need to be writing. I think that’s what this is all about. I need to write a story. I’m just so freaking busy, it’s hard to find time. I’ve fallen off my schedule, need to find my way back to 5:30 mornings.

My dream boyfriend is back. The wiry one with the long black hair. If I ever run into this guy in real life I think I will faint. I’m hoping he’s not a drug dealer. In the dreams it’s hard to tell what he does. He might be a mechanic. Or he could be an artist, like a potter or something. It seems like I thought he was a painter at one time. He works with his hands. They’re long and bony and rough and powerful. His hands are always pivotal in the dreams. He’s very intense and . . . slippery. He seems almost to glide from one place to another, snakelike, only sexy. He doesn’t say much verbally, but his non-verbal communication is killer. He says everything in the way he touches my face and presses his hand into the small of my back. Maybe he doesn’t speak English? I dunno. He’s been showing up in my dreams all week. The dreams are never about him, he’s just there in the setting. We live together. He’s just part of my life, part of the window dressing for all my dreams. It’s a little weird. I’ve been dreaming about this guy, who as far as I know doesn’t exist anywhere outside of my imagination, off and on for almost 10 years now. Maybe he’s the one I should be writing about.

Mood: sleepy
Drinking: coffee, brewed, black
Listening To: blackmath, white stripes
Hair: silk soft

How to Save a Life

Physically feeling much stronger today, though still pretty tired. I walked up the King George Highway this morning to do an interview, close to a half hour walk and all my pedometer registered was 10 minutes. I hate when that happens! It’s because my pants are too loose to have it stuffed into my front pocket, it gets jostled and turned upside down and at odd angles. Oh well, at least I got the steps and didn’t pass out from the walk.

I have a sharp jabbing pain happening periodically in and around my left knee. Not sure what that’s about. Perhaps something arthritic? I haven’t had a full on arthritis flare in a very long time, and seasons are changing, so . . . maybe.

There’s a municipal election thing happening tonight at the Kin Centre. All the candidates are speaking, no Q&A though. I should go. I think T is going, but I should be there too probably. See how I feel about that later.

I’ve got to work all weekend. Trade show. I’m also hosting a play practice in my apartment on Saturday, so I need to get things in shipshape before the weekend arrives. I have yet to run lines with anyone. I don’t know them. I’ve missed practice so far. So it seems my first one will be off-script . . . yeah. Yay! I’ve told Ms Director to be prepared to spoon feed me lines all day, lol. But seriously, I’m not even kidding. There is a very big part of my brain that still hasn’t registered that I’m actually doing a play in a month’s time.

I am sleeping so much! It’s crazy. Last night I laid down around 9 and this morning I hung back in the sheets until the last possible moment, 8:30ish, and if I hadn’t had to get up to go do an interview I might be hanging there still. I know I should go to the doctor. I know. I’ll get to that someday soon.

Mood: scattered
Drinking: espresso
Listening To: raise a little hell, trooper
Hair: mussed

A Rolling Stone

I am returned from Moncton and feeling slightly out of sorts. I have no food. My apartment is a sty and everything I touch seems to fall apart and need repairs. I have a cupboard door lying on the floor in my kitchen. I have no energy. I went to bed last night around 7pm, forced myself out of the bed this morning just after 7:30. Maybe I should take some vitamins or something.

I need to go out sometime today. I need to sort out my finances first. It was an expensive weekend. Nothing like living beyond your means! Yes, I really could have gone to Europe instead! But it was good. I mean there was a lot of bad associated with this weekend for me personally, but overall it was good. I bought books. I mean REAL books, literature. And I’ve started reading them. And I touched base with that part of myself that writes stories, that wants to write stories, in a way that I haven’t in awhile. That part that sees the small actions and immediately files them away in her memorybank where they remain until the character needs them. This was therapeutic and necessary.

I’ve felt out of line with the universe this past week or so. Off course. When this happens I often get ill (and I did get ill) and it’s just a really negative unharmonious experience. This mightn’t make much sense to some people but I spent a great many years getting myself in tune with my life. I follow my gut. And my gut doesn’t steer me wrong. I pay attention to signs and I do what they tell me to do. It took a long time to get here, through so much muck it’s a wonder I ever emerged at the other side in one piece.

So most of the time I sail along pretty much at peace with myself and the world and feeling in harmony with the universe overall. And if something makes me feel icky I back off and don’t do it. And if the way seems to be barred to my passage I back off and look for the way with least resistance. And along the way I experience awakenings of the spirit that I would never have thought possible and I gather to me the most interesting, supportive and loving group of human beings to exist on this earth.

But just because I’m listening and I’m in tune, doesn’t mean everyone else is. Yeah, I can follow my path to the places I’m supposed to go, but sometimes the people on the path with me aren’t so cooperative or enlightened. They buck. They want to crash the fence and take the other road. It’s human. It’s free will. It’s beyond my control. And yet it causes me to crash too, road kill thrown into the ditch. So this past week has been unpleasant. And I mean physically. Emotionally and intellectually, I’ve been clawing my way back onto the path from the moment the crash happened, but the wobbly-ness of the universe seems to draw major negativity into my life and negativity makes me sick, physically. And the physical is hard to get past sometimes. It certainly takes longer to bring back into harmony.

I feel a shift today in my body though. It wants to go outside. It needs to walk by the water and listen to the birds and ground itself with nature, this place I call home. And I think it’ll be ok now. I think the physical is catching up with the emotional and intellectual, coming back onto the path again, tuning back in, regaining harmony. The worst is definitely over.

Mood: optimistic
Drinking: americano coffee, black
Listening To: crazy, aerosmith
Hair: still blonde

Learning to Fly

Earlier this afternoon I happened to be in my room when housekeeping came, so we got to talking as she straightened out my mess and left me many bonus treats. I told her I was a journalist. And I was shocked how easily this response came from my lips. I haven’t felt like a journalist since . . . well, it’s been a really long time. I used to struggle in the early days of BnM to balance journalism and the positive outlook of the magazine. I mean it’s a very biased approach to writing, to sort of put the blinders on and only write about the good stuff, and that, my friends, is NOT what journalism is all about. Yet, I agree with the concept of BnM wholeheartedly or I wouldn’t be involved at all. Just yesterday I told a friend in Dieppe that I believed BnM was changing the collective consciousness of Miramichi, and I do! Our positivity, our willingness to seek out the good and showcase it for the general public, is making an impact. I honestly believe we are changing people’s attitudes and having a positive influence and that this is the best thing that could happen for Miramichi. I am so honoured to be a part of it.

Yet, the only way I could give myself the freedom to fully embrace BnM was to abandon any thoughts I had about journalism. I needed to start thinking of myself in terms other than journalist or else I couldn’t do it, because I was constantly running into the wall of “objectivity” . . . bnm is not objective, we are positive. It was a dilemma for a time, personally. So, eventually I made my peace with it by just stopping referring to myself or even thinking of myself as a journalist. I started to refer to myself exclusively as a writer or editor, and that gave me the freedom I needed in order to continue.

So, imagine my surprise this afternoon when the first words out of my mouth were that I was a journalist . . . a journalist from a Miramichi-based magazine called Bread ‘n Molasses here to cover the Frye Festival . . . what the hell?! Can it be that I have had a breakthrough?! That I finally realize that in today’s society no journalism is truly objective and therefore I deserve to be counted among the journalists just as much as anyone else?

Breakthrough in the Delta-Beausejour.

The thing is, I actually feel like a journalist being here, writing about these events. And I know I’m doing no worse job than CNN at objectivity, and maybe better, yet all those crazy news anchors call themselves journalists . . . so, why not me too?

Mood: nearly hungry
Drinking: nothing, have coffee and red wine ordered for dinner
Listening To: anarchy in the uk, sex pistols
Hair: maybe a little too blonde to be walking by that crack house later this evening

On the Road Again

Ok, so I’m off and God willing I’ll somehow get online in Moncton and be able to tell you all about my exploits and adventures. I am armed with a laptop . . . which I have some doubts about . . . but no time to think about it now, I’ll try to find some tech support when I get there. If you don’t hear from me anymore, you will know I failed desperately đŸ˜¦

Highlights of today are the WFNB Readings at 1:30pm in which I will finally meet fellow Miramichier Ray Fraser after all these years, Russell Banks at the Soiree Frye this evening at the Capitol Theatre, and perhaps if I’m not beat a little Night Howl at Mexicali Rosa’s to top things off . . .

Mood: my ovaries are in an uproar . . . literally
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: should i stay or should i go, the clash
Hair: in my eyes, perhaps i should trim my bangs with the razor before i leave


When you can’t think of a title and the song currently playing is “Maneater” by Nelly Furtado and you’re not really feeling like much of a maneater at the moment, what do you do? Untitle the damn post and get on with the business of writing it.

So it’s my last day. Everything needs to be done today. Tomorrow morning there is no time for anything, just get up, shower, and head out the door. And there’s still so freaking much to do.

Lots of debris floating past my window these days. The water is high, even at low-tide. So many ducks!

The new neighbours who moved in this winter below and to the right of my apartment have taken to throwing bread to the birds. I watched yesterday as a lone seagull glided along the shoreline. I wondered whether he would notice the slice of bread on the back lawn. I needn’t have wondered, he turned and swooped onto the grass as if it had been his intention to land there all along.

The curious thing happened once he was situated. As far as I could see there were no other gulls around, no crows or eagles, no pesky blackbirds, the seagull could have snatched the bread and devoured it all on his own. Instead he paced a circle around it, with an almost suspicious looking eye. Round and round, he paced, never edging any closer.

And then I could hear the cries and soon four more gulls dropped onto the grass. They screamed at one another. Their feathers ruffled. They flew at one another. All the while the bread lay on the grass, untouched. Then a crow raced into the ruckus, claws poised to snatch the toast.

The biggest darkest gull stopped fighting and immediately ran over to the bread, snatched the slice in its beak and took off up toward the Richie Wharf. The crow and the gulls followed, dive-bombing the big gull from all angles. The pursuit lasted about five seconds before the bread was knocked from the gull’s beak and fell into the river.

Then all the birds flew off on their separate ways as if nothing had transpired.

It was a curious thing to watch. I don’t understand why that first bird didn’t eat the bread while he had a chance. Perhaps it tastes better if you win it in a fight?

Mood: puzzled
Drinking: coffee, black
Listening To: anarchy in the uk, sex pistols
Hair: still liking the new do

Every Passing Minute

“Every passing minute is another chance to turn it all around.” Sofia Serrano

Last night I watched Vanilla Sky again. I know, I know, some of you will be like WTF?! Yes, I’ve seen it a zillion times and yes, it effects me deeply each time . . . so why don’t I give it a rest already? I dunno. Sometimes I just need it. Sometimes I’m the saddest girl to hold a martini. And sometimes I’m a dancing girl caught up in the buzz. Sometimes I’m playing the game and sometimes I’m the girl who goes home alone. No matter who I am at the time this movie seems to put it all in perspective somehow. And so I watch. Again and again and again . . .

Last night I fell asleep before the end. Thankfully. I don’t think I could have handled the rooftop. “I’ll see you in another life . . . when we are both cats.” I made it through the park though, which was surprising, with only a few stray tears. Perhaps I’m finally all cried out. Perhaps I should watch Elizabethtown and see what happens. Better yet, I should watch Singles.

I’m being told I’m going to miss the first play practice this weekend. This can’t be good.

Mood: contemplative
Drinking: nothing at the moment
Listening To: same mistake, james blunt
Hair: looking absolutely fan-tab today, if i do say so myself!