random

spent the entire day trying not to barf. so over school and everything about it. too (whats the word for i just dont care anymore)

came home and slept for hours and

i dreamt there was a tree on fire in peterborough in a backyard where we used to have keg parties and i rushed to try and put it out but it happened all on its own

Some teeny-bop dream i had..

.. kind of twisted, romantic coming of age shit..

Fiction Alert!

The time at the grocery after school...two weeks to graduation. Dave, shy skater Dave, nervous shrugging Dave with the huge dark blue eyes and the quiet stutter, Dave who talked to her for hours on the telephone but had only ever held her hand. She was with him that day - witnessed something barbaric inside of him emerge and quickly vanish.

The kid followed them and egged them on the entire way to the grocery, and somehow it attracted a lot of attention and then there was a crowd and the crowd became this pulsating force, this mob of: "why are you letting this shit-head say this stuff to you Dave?" The kid wouldn't stop. he was begging for it, the mob said, "beat him Dave. You are being a pussy Dave, beat this dickwads face in". And he did. a fury of punches, nothing fancy, nothing dirty, just well placed punches, and he almost didn't stop but she was screaming, blurred, she knew he would regret it...she was screaming for him to stop and he did.

he took some hits too, was pushed into a shopping cart, off balance, winded him..but not as much as the little shit who had started it all. (Dave would later recall the sensation of the other boys jaw breaking under his knuckles, and become nauseated with the memory.)

by the end of it, his mother had been called and she came in her rusty white buick to gather her youngest son.
The girl went with them and Dave cried blood into her lap in the back seat. His mother smoked a cigarette and watched the tenderness of the girl in the rear-view mirror.
******
at home in the dishevelment of the rented white Victorian with lopsided porch and forever slamming front door, Dave's mother's boyfriend sits at the table with a beer and looks up as they arrive but Dave's mother shushed him and points the girl down the hall of this beautiful, dirty house where the bedroom doors never quite stay shut and the whitewash of the walls never quite stays white.. the girl nods and half carries Dave to the bathroom down the wooden hall and holds his hand under the water spout watching the rivulets of blood weave down his fingers to the drain. his liquid blue eyes are large and amazed in the dusty oval mirror. he doesn't talk much because when he does it's never anything that matters, he wants it to matter, feels like it should matter but it's stuttered silliness when it comes out.
*****
when he first came to high school his older brother got up and played the guitar and sang Imagine by the Beatles in front of the entire school, Dave just sat there big eyed and wished he could say it like that one day too. Hasn't yet.
****
the lockers at school are not big enough to fit the burden of youth. weren't when they were in 9th grade and still aren't now. they spill hidden bottles of booze and soiled gym clothes and he can never quite remember the combination until the last moment and he can never quite get it closed, can never erase the graffiti.
*****
she holds him all night while he sobs in the cold stillness of his bedroom because she knows he is horrified, sweet dave who has never hurt a fly, knows he will have bad dreams and wake up hating himself. she is not sure if he will remember but in his despair he kisses her three times on the lips as if gasping for air, (of course he will remember) each time more natural, more tender. he has never kissed her before. never kissed anyone. she smiles through the soft swell of his lips and tucks herself around his delirious warmth.
she watches him....watches day arrive opalescent gray through the window..the same trees sway outside and things will never be the same..

blogtrospection

Back up for a second. Sometimes I write like a late 90s born text whore, as evidenced by the last post. But sometimes that is the only way I get anything out. Not sure if this is a good thing; the writers at the Banff School in the 70s thought so. They called it freefall. W.O. Mithell was really into it. It was more of a launching pad for actual prose though, not meant to be published, not even meant as a first draft really, just meant to get the juices flowing.

Are blogs supposed to be finished? are blogs ever a finished product? can the seams show to ensure fertility of thought? For now I think so.

happy happy yey

I want to turn this into less of an outlet for my meaningless bitching.

This may be the end. hhahahahahahaha

Whateves, positive stuff is fun to write about too, I guess. Like how awesome the barn i work at is. Yeah. Love it, love the people, love the horses and how there are dogs and cats running around everywhere and beautiful fields and trees.

I am going to apply for an office assistant/ communications job with a non-for profit sled dog racing organization for the summer. super stoked abuot that. Such a cliche for the yukon, but i have sort have come around to cliches since my hatred for them in my journalism days. They become cliches for a reason, because they are true. why fix it if it aint broke. see, a good cliche to explain what i mean.

my story has been germinating within me of late i have so many secret ideas. i wish I had time to write.. maybe i'll put some down in here.

so my last day off (without school or work was MArch 4 and my next one is easter friday (good friday?) damn right it will be a good friday. I may cook a huge pot of mac and cheese, the presidents choice white kind, and sit in bed reading all day. I will wear a diaper so i don't have to get up. put one on the dog too so he doesn't have to go outside.. hahahaha oh DEUSCZ! that is one of squanch and i's words we made up in our lingo. we have a ton.

lalalalalal staying happy YAY!~ I will just icnore all the annoying ass-hats tomorrow, which means i may have to go though the day mute and deafen myself with my earplugs. There is a deaf girl in my class. I am so JEALOUS! sorta, not really. I can handle being selectively deaf... music is important to me (used to be more so, still is but i don't have the time for anything other than bob macowitch in the morning and rich terfry at night on the radio.

I'm going to go to CBC and do that compass thing to figure out what my political sway is. Pretty sure it will be Bloc Quebecsquaw. yeah, that's right, you wanna leave bitches, then leave. i throw a vote behind seperatism. kidding, i love quebec and want them to stay but it's kinda twisted a complicated kind of love like the love for a red headed stepchild.. haha philip on survivor looks like a black mr burns.

trying not to be a BIATCH!

Squanch is gone to the north for work and I am alone. I am also broke which is handy because I need to eat our house dry of all the random shit in the fridge and pantry and freezer before our sub-letters take over and rub their juices all over our stuff for four months. GWOSS!

Tonight's dinner.. egg noodrah pasta with tomato paste reconstituted with a few splashes from a bottle of red wine that was left open for a few days. and a greek salad sans feta, which is surprisingly tastier than it sounds. I threw some chic peas into both for substance. Oh and a coors light left from when my parents were here helping me with taxes last weekend.

Ok, I know i'm trying to be positive here but I have to say, I spent a few hours in the computer lab at school getting caught up on print outs and assignments and summer job searching and every five minutes some obnoxious twat would walk by dragging her feet effing loudly across the floor. Of course she was wearing Uggs. They pretty much demand that you walk around like a slob when you are wearing them. They are the stupidest, ugliest ,pieces of shit footwear I have ever seen and you look stupid and ugly in them because they the second you walk in them they are dirty.

Also, I do my tests in the test center (special room for students with "accommodations") I do it because i need quiet or else i loose my shit and don't know my name let alone the answer to a complex radiography problem. Well anyway this ogre comes in to write also and he starts drumming on the desk with his hands. He wouldn't stop. Last time i checked this wasn't a workshop for percussionists you illegitimate child between a hobbit and an ewoke! I told the lady at the counter i was moving because a percussionist was sitting beside me and the aspergers girl from my class snickered.

Speaking of aspergers girl.. I made friends with her the other day (sorta) and I was thinking to myself as I drove home "I made friends with the weird girl" and then it occurred to me that she could be telling herself the exact same thing. But yeah, honestly she is one of the only people I care to interact with from my school.

wasted hatred

I over heard someone say "me likey" today. I spun around to see who was spouting such obsolete verbal regurgitation and then had to pretend to laugh at how funny and charming she was because she noticed me noticing her and it was either that or smacking her in the annoying ass ironic glasses clad face.

Pretty sure it was a Simpson's reference and pretty sure the only people who quote the Simpsons are trying way too hard to be cool.

Pretty sure people who quote anything in day to day dialogue are trying way to hard to be cool. Like that chic that Squanch's best friend brought over here the other weekend who was pretending to be the starving artist meanwhile daddy pays for an internship because she doesn't have to work. sorry, no amount of strategically nonchalant boho scarves will be able to cover your fucking prada purse and fur hat you poser biatch.

So anyway, she kept engaging in conversation with the guys about world politics and bla bla bla and not once did she look at me and then she would pluck some reference out of her ass and so and so scholar said this about that and I am brilliant and then look at squanch like she wanted some kind of reassurence that he thought she was smart and the whole time I was just knowing that he was thinking she was a pompous twat same as what i was thinking.

there was this feminist feeling i got from her but instead of being happy to be a strong intelligent woman she was trying to prove herself to have a dick and that it was bigger than squanchs dick, which is impossible if you ask me.

She actually bragged to the cashier at the grocery store that Squanch's friend was a poet.. haha I bet she has all kinds of fantasies about how she is slumming with a ginger, woodsy, philosopher poet. too bad he will be writing poems in spooge on the walls of the tents of whatever girls take his fancy at planting this season.

woah rant.

so much angers me these days.I know it's a waste of time but i need it out of my head so i can get on with everything else