I wish I hadn't eaten that nasty asparagus sandwich right near the end of the flight before we hit major turbulence. (Note: the pilot wouldn't have called it "major" so it weren't like we was facin death.) I made more compromises on this trip to my diet than I am comfortable with and I wish that I had (a) planned ahead better and (b) excercised some more self-control. Ach!
I should have spent the time with the people I DIDN'T know well when I had the chance. Ouch.. that one is going to keep hurting right on into the future. I guess I get into a comfortable rut or something. I also kept tricking myself into thinking I had more time.
Where is my VISA card? this is getting annoying.
I wish I had agreed to mentally convert pounds to dollars so I knew exactly what kind of damage I was doing.
I do indeed wish I had done my schoolwork that I brought BUT what I wish more is that I had stopped guilting myself for NOT doing it.
This is not actually a regret but I do wish that film processing didn't cost so much as it does (especially when you're impatient). I have five rolls... of... expensive craziness.... YIKES.
I kept telling myself, "When's the next time you'll be in Scotland?" to justify these crazy expenses. Well... what's funny about this is that, at the end, I started doing small things that left me to conclude that I would be in Scotland again and certainly some time soon. I wish I knew what that meaned. I wish I had put my laundry in the dryer last night so I didn't need to hang around for another 1/2 hour for clean things. ah well
Monday, 26 February 2007
Sunday, 25 February 2007
things that made me smile today
It didn't make sense to bed myself last night because our flight left at 05h50, our bus to the aeroport at 03h15 and our trek to the bus stop began at 02h30. 02h30 is child's play for sick-os like me.
So, from when the new Saturday started the first thing I remember smiling at was my own shock/stupidity in trying to figure out how Brian (with an i) had been in the adjoining room for the last 1/2 hour and I hadn't seen him, having been in my room for at least 45 minutes. I was trying to weasel the story out of him (he was making it seem so simple, unconcerned with my extreme confusion - leading into mental agitation) and he was just giving me bits and pieces that were all dancing around one critical truth, that he had come in through an alternate (and foreign to me!) door. Ah-ha! I had thought that he had come in during those 3 minutes I was away to grab something from upstairs. I definitely smiled because he was smirking at me for some strange reason. I think I also smiled when he said something hilarious but didn't laugh.... yea.
Listening to a story about Zelda on Wii (sorry I don't know the game's full title) that lasted only about 2 or 3 minutes - I have heard many a more lengthy sermon - made me smile on-and-off quite a bit. I was fighting myself on this one. When you preface a story with, "How can I say this without looking like an even bigger nerd?" I am bound to have trouble stifling laughter. It was the way that this guy - Mike - seemed to really love this game but revere it at the same time. Side note: myself I am impressed and fascinated by how video games can now be infused with plots (or at least far richer plots) and something more like what I'd like to call art. Uhh... no I can't say that -- something more like literature and narrative. Yes.
In the same conversation I also remember smiling (in response to a smirk) about some day-old touché moment. Apparently I was on to something. "I think you would have benefitted from that class because..." was part of what I had said and he saw my point, half-reluctantly agreeing.
There were four of us who were laughing like maniacs in Edinburgh aeroport because Mike was trying to take a photograph of a man behind us (with one of the coolest moustaches you'll ever see) under the guise of taking a photograph of Meredith, Emily and I. It was a joke... no one had slept, the eating was crap and it was frustratating not knowing when the gates would open, nor how critical it was that we stayed together. I almost missed my plane. It scared me. Just before, I had had a moment of what seems now to be extreme cockiness, saying that I trust in God, not to miss my flight, that I know exactly where I'm going, that I have at least 7 or 8 minutes to spare, that I can see my number from here.... oh look. No ticket collectors, no lines, no.... aeroplane. Hm! A helpful screen let me know that my aeroplane was departing from gate TWO, not nineteen and that I had to run back to where I had started from (and do note that 19 is the LAST gate and thusly the furthest from our entrance point). I had a moment of major panic. I felt the ad-renal-ine, my eyes bugged open in that first moment and it became clear that stopping to don my jacket & belt and to stow my laptop was essential given how these x-ray-ables were impeding my ability to run. Then I had to remind myself of what the previous moments were saying. "Uhhhh, didn't you just say you trusted me?" Yes, God, I responded, feeling partially insincere. Feeling and fact were not aligned. I'll run and You hold the plane. Deal? I caught another screen in my pursuits: "Final Call" it said, flashing red. Ha - so not cool. I have seen too many Hollywood films and especially too much of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Yikes. I can't be missing no flight out of Scotland. What the junk would the Plan B be for this? Final call, apparently, starts 5 minutes before the departure time. This gave me adequate time to reach my neon, reflective vests who perused my boarding pass and to reach the boarding ramp which was still 1/3 full of people, making me not-so-noticably late. That all being said, with the extra stress of poops-a-lot international travel, the stupidness of our spying tactic was killing my abdo muscles by way of mirth. I loved it.
I also smiled when I started seeing snow out the window. I smiled when I set foot on the soil and remembered I had been away. The snow was still titillating. I smiled to see Bienvenue au Canada. I smiled knowing I was back in the majority and knowing that, though my accent would be most common, the uncommon or foreign accents were not head-turning at all because of our crazy diversity. When I saw the "Welcome to Canada" sign as I descended on the escalator, my hand instinctively went to my heart in a moment overflowing with happiness and pride. I smiled knowing I would understand BOTH languages spoken here, unlike the ever cool yet fully incomprehensible Dutch of the Amsterdam Schipol (that means 'aeroport'!). I thought briefly about how, after 5 or 6 days, the $10-bill sitting in my locker at the hostel looked weird and useless (a purple piece of [paper]) but now it was the kinger. It was the useful one and the pounds and euros could be traded away. I was glad to see the ol' familiar dollar but a little LESS glad when I remembered the applicable tax addition that Europe seems to avoid rather well. I started feeling like the king; I started feeling at home, feeling adept and not out of place. It was good and it made me understand that I will always be Canadian though I would travel & live anywhere (as it seems God will soon call me to do). I wandered over to the currency exchange desk and submitted my 15 quid. Ahh, when I saw the green 20 and two-tone polar toonies I had some crazy moment of Ahh, I'm home-ness but I really can't describe it any better than that. I mean the grin on my face was STUPID and purely reactionary (?) or emotional (?). I remember shifting my weight and my shoulders relaxing. I love those moments when part of dealing with your hyper-excitement is to hold yourself back (painlessly). In a very toned-down way, it's like walking slowly, in time with the music, as a bride pacing down the aisle to the one she chose for ever. Hm..I waited patiently for that 24.91 to reach my hand and I felt good to have that familiarity and control back.
So, from when the new Saturday started the first thing I remember smiling at was my own shock/stupidity in trying to figure out how Brian (with an i) had been in the adjoining room for the last 1/2 hour and I hadn't seen him, having been in my room for at least 45 minutes. I was trying to weasel the story out of him (he was making it seem so simple, unconcerned with my extreme confusion - leading into mental agitation) and he was just giving me bits and pieces that were all dancing around one critical truth, that he had come in through an alternate (and foreign to me!) door. Ah-ha! I had thought that he had come in during those 3 minutes I was away to grab something from upstairs. I definitely smiled because he was smirking at me for some strange reason. I think I also smiled when he said something hilarious but didn't laugh.... yea.
Listening to a story about Zelda on Wii (sorry I don't know the game's full title) that lasted only about 2 or 3 minutes - I have heard many a more lengthy sermon - made me smile on-and-off quite a bit. I was fighting myself on this one. When you preface a story with, "How can I say this without looking like an even bigger nerd?" I am bound to have trouble stifling laughter. It was the way that this guy - Mike - seemed to really love this game but revere it at the same time. Side note: myself I am impressed and fascinated by how video games can now be infused with plots (or at least far richer plots) and something more like what I'd like to call art. Uhh... no I can't say that -- something more like literature and narrative. Yes.
In the same conversation I also remember smiling (in response to a smirk) about some day-old touché moment. Apparently I was on to something. "I think you would have benefitted from that class because..." was part of what I had said and he saw my point, half-reluctantly agreeing.
There were four of us who were laughing like maniacs in Edinburgh aeroport because Mike was trying to take a photograph of a man behind us (with one of the coolest moustaches you'll ever see) under the guise of taking a photograph of Meredith, Emily and I. It was a joke... no one had slept, the eating was crap and it was frustratating not knowing when the gates would open, nor how critical it was that we stayed together. I almost missed my plane. It scared me. Just before, I had had a moment of what seems now to be extreme cockiness, saying that I trust in God, not to miss my flight, that I know exactly where I'm going, that I have at least 7 or 8 minutes to spare, that I can see my number from here.... oh look. No ticket collectors, no lines, no.... aeroplane. Hm! A helpful screen let me know that my aeroplane was departing from gate TWO, not nineteen and that I had to run back to where I had started from (and do note that 19 is the LAST gate and thusly the furthest from our entrance point). I had a moment of major panic. I felt the ad-renal-ine, my eyes bugged open in that first moment and it became clear that stopping to don my jacket & belt and to stow my laptop was essential given how these x-ray-ables were impeding my ability to run. Then I had to remind myself of what the previous moments were saying. "Uhhhh, didn't you just say you trusted me?" Yes, God, I responded, feeling partially insincere. Feeling and fact were not aligned. I'll run and You hold the plane. Deal? I caught another screen in my pursuits: "Final Call" it said, flashing red. Ha - so not cool. I have seen too many Hollywood films and especially too much of Home Alone 2: Lost in New York. Yikes. I can't be missing no flight out of Scotland. What the junk would the Plan B be for this? Final call, apparently, starts 5 minutes before the departure time. This gave me adequate time to reach my neon, reflective vests who perused my boarding pass and to reach the boarding ramp which was still 1/3 full of people, making me not-so-noticably late. That all being said, with the extra stress of poops-a-lot international travel, the stupidness of our spying tactic was killing my abdo muscles by way of mirth. I loved it.
I also smiled when I started seeing snow out the window. I smiled when I set foot on the soil and remembered I had been away. The snow was still titillating. I smiled to see Bienvenue au Canada. I smiled knowing I was back in the majority and knowing that, though my accent would be most common, the uncommon or foreign accents were not head-turning at all because of our crazy diversity. When I saw the "Welcome to Canada" sign as I descended on the escalator, my hand instinctively went to my heart in a moment overflowing with happiness and pride. I smiled knowing I would understand BOTH languages spoken here, unlike the ever cool yet fully incomprehensible Dutch of the Amsterdam Schipol (that means 'aeroport'!). I thought briefly about how, after 5 or 6 days, the $10-bill sitting in my locker at the hostel looked weird and useless (a purple piece of [paper]) but now it was the kinger. It was the useful one and the pounds and euros could be traded away. I was glad to see the ol' familiar dollar but a little LESS glad when I remembered the applicable tax addition that Europe seems to avoid rather well. I started feeling like the king; I started feeling at home, feeling adept and not out of place. It was good and it made me understand that I will always be Canadian though I would travel & live anywhere (as it seems God will soon call me to do). I wandered over to the currency exchange desk and submitted my 15 quid. Ahh, when I saw the green 20 and two-tone polar toonies I had some crazy moment of Ahh, I'm home-ness but I really can't describe it any better than that. I mean the grin on my face was STUPID and purely reactionary (?) or emotional (?). I remember shifting my weight and my shoulders relaxing. I love those moments when part of dealing with your hyper-excitement is to hold yourself back (painlessly). In a very toned-down way, it's like walking slowly, in time with the music, as a bride pacing down the aisle to the one she chose for ever. Hm..I waited patiently for that 24.91 to reach my hand and I felt good to have that familiarity and control back.
Saturday, 24 February 2007
seamless o'toole
My shameless plug for the evening:
Go buy Jared Wohlgemut's "Sounds for the Evening". It blows my mind and so... I hope it blows yours, too. Seriously, if you see me, ask for a listen-taste. If you don't see me, ask me anyways so I might get back to you. DO IT!
[This is hardly a plug, actually, it's more of a direct order.. or imperative statement..]
Go buy Jared Wohlgemut's "Sounds for the Evening". It blows my mind and so... I hope it blows yours, too. Seriously, if you see me, ask for a listen-taste. If you don't see me, ask me anyways so I might get back to you. DO IT!
[This is hardly a plug, actually, it's more of a direct order.. or imperative statement..]
Wednesday, 21 February 2007
Thursday, 15 February 2007
Happy Valentine's Day!!
This post is dedicated to Silas (because he told me to do it!).
I like this quote of his - "Give me your head." (Imagine it said in a lean-in whisper at an inappropriate time.)
Silas, since you said you read this, I will write something directly to you. The term "piss you off" is not exactly the one I meant to use. If no one read my blog I would still write (I might write much more) but if someone does start reading, I expect to get feedback (in whatever way) because with two involved in speech, we have the creation of a conversation. Basically what I am trying to say is that, if you totally disagree with me on something or think I am very much off-base, TELL ME. That goes for pretty much anyone who reads this. I can't learn unless people challenge me.. and I love being challenged. So, bring it on(-izzle).
I like this quote of his - "Give me your head." (Imagine it said in a lean-in whisper at an inappropriate time.)
Silas, since you said you read this, I will write something directly to you. The term "piss you off" is not exactly the one I meant to use. If no one read my blog I would still write (I might write much more) but if someone does start reading, I expect to get feedback (in whatever way) because with two involved in speech, we have the creation of a conversation. Basically what I am trying to say is that, if you totally disagree with me on something or think I am very much off-base, TELL ME. That goes for pretty much anyone who reads this. I can't learn unless people challenge me.. and I love being challenged. So, bring it on(-izzle).
Wednesday, 14 February 2007
how much FAITH do you have in me?
(What's more, it's not even about me!)
I don't understand how people write me such big cheques. I guess they care deeply about Christ and about His name being proclaimed. It's.. more than humbling. I don't know what to say. Only once have I ever reached 100% with support raising and that was the absurd generousity of my grandparents giving me $249 the day before Winter Conference. I had slacked off on it so hard that I only asked them... and they/God came through. I'm amazed. I'm frustrated, though, that they give to me so much and so often, yet I don't know where they stand with God. I WANT TO KNOW but, for some reason, cannot ask.
I have faith in God. I see, as more and more people partner with me to aller a l'Ecosse, that I need to go. I see that God must have good (or perhaps great!) reasons for me to go. I am a bit anxious for that reason -- what on earth am I walking into?? My mind is boggled. I feel like a self-fulfilling prophecy is working itself out in my life. I feel like me saying to many people, usually when they ask, that, "I have no reason to worry," because God will get'r dun means that eventually my faith will match my professed faith. (But does it match already?) I feel like I am secretly (but actually NOT secretly, because that's impossible with God) trying to trick Him. I figure that, if I remove all other options, I leave myself with no choice but to trust Him. (Can I do that?) Is it possible to remove all other options and still NOT be trusting Him exclusively, but throwing in the towel, saying, "Whatever happens happens?"? I think that would be letting go too easily, or something. I think that would be me not trusting Him to do what He said He would, or to do what I prayed for. [I wonder if I will ever be fully convicted to stop writing sentences that end with conjunctions. I don' t think I could be because I like the way they sound so very much!] It's like, If You provide then that's awesome but if You don't then whatever. That pretty much means I am indifferent or already expecting failure. On the off chance that you could do this... - is that fair? Me I think it's not BUT in these times I imagine God will come through with such unimaginable greatness that our faith will expand violently because of this and such instances of two-faced wishy-washiness will ebb into non-existance.
I'm not in this precise spot yet. Right now I am rather disgusted with how great God is. I mean He is..... beyond my everything. WHO DOES THAT?! Has become the question of my LIFE these days. I would say that right now, the only thing I can do is have faith. The other options are completely unviable. My faith is not as great as I purport it to be, it is not as great as it should be or as I would like it to be but I expect it to grow. I expect what I am doing now to be an exercise of sorts, one that can only make me more faithful. I expect to be blown away. I expect God to do what I have been saying I expect... and now I must wonder if I say things to save face -- more than that, if I say things to make a statement to others. Realistically, I don't see how I can have any MAYBEs with God. I can't say, "Maybe He will give me all the financial support I need to go to Scotland," no. He will or He will not and if I understand Him correctly, I am in His will and thus He will do what is necessary to get me to the desired endpoint. More than that, He will give us whatever we ask for in His name. (If you want to fight me on that last sentence, I'll take you on but warn you that it's a choice-of-words thing.) I trust. I am choiceless. Where else would I turn? What else would I do? Who else can I depend on? See, but now I seem desperate in a bad way. For why? For what is this? I don't want to say to God, "I chose You because I didn't have anything better to do." Imagine if that was how you were asked to the prom: "All the other girls had already been asked, so I guess you and I have to go together." Wouldn't you rather, "I choose you," - straight up? It doesn't matter who else there was, what should be the first move is to say, I wanted You first; You and You only. OK, I think we're getting somewhere. I smell progress. Agh.. oh, to put into action the things I "learn"...
I don't understand how people write me such big cheques. I guess they care deeply about Christ and about His name being proclaimed. It's.. more than humbling. I don't know what to say. Only once have I ever reached 100% with support raising and that was the absurd generousity of my grandparents giving me $249 the day before Winter Conference. I had slacked off on it so hard that I only asked them... and they/God came through. I'm amazed. I'm frustrated, though, that they give to me so much and so often, yet I don't know where they stand with God. I WANT TO KNOW but, for some reason, cannot ask.
I have faith in God. I see, as more and more people partner with me to aller a l'Ecosse, that I need to go. I see that God must have good (or perhaps great!) reasons for me to go. I am a bit anxious for that reason -- what on earth am I walking into?? My mind is boggled. I feel like a self-fulfilling prophecy is working itself out in my life. I feel like me saying to many people, usually when they ask, that, "I have no reason to worry," because God will get'r dun means that eventually my faith will match my professed faith. (But does it match already?) I feel like I am secretly (but actually NOT secretly, because that's impossible with God) trying to trick Him. I figure that, if I remove all other options, I leave myself with no choice but to trust Him. (Can I do that?) Is it possible to remove all other options and still NOT be trusting Him exclusively, but throwing in the towel, saying, "Whatever happens happens?"? I think that would be letting go too easily, or something. I think that would be me not trusting Him to do what He said He would, or to do what I prayed for. [I wonder if I will ever be fully convicted to stop writing sentences that end with conjunctions. I don' t think I could be because I like the way they sound so very much!] It's like, If You provide then that's awesome but if You don't then whatever. That pretty much means I am indifferent or already expecting failure. On the off chance that you could do this... - is that fair? Me I think it's not BUT in these times I imagine God will come through with such unimaginable greatness that our faith will expand violently because of this and such instances of two-faced wishy-washiness will ebb into non-existance.
I'm not in this precise spot yet. Right now I am rather disgusted with how great God is. I mean He is..... beyond my everything. WHO DOES THAT?! Has become the question of my LIFE these days. I would say that right now, the only thing I can do is have faith. The other options are completely unviable. My faith is not as great as I purport it to be, it is not as great as it should be or as I would like it to be but I expect it to grow. I expect what I am doing now to be an exercise of sorts, one that can only make me more faithful. I expect to be blown away. I expect God to do what I have been saying I expect... and now I must wonder if I say things to save face -- more than that, if I say things to make a statement to others. Realistically, I don't see how I can have any MAYBEs with God. I can't say, "Maybe He will give me all the financial support I need to go to Scotland," no. He will or He will not and if I understand Him correctly, I am in His will and thus He will do what is necessary to get me to the desired endpoint. More than that, He will give us whatever we ask for in His name. (If you want to fight me on that last sentence, I'll take you on but warn you that it's a choice-of-words thing.) I trust. I am choiceless. Where else would I turn? What else would I do? Who else can I depend on? See, but now I seem desperate in a bad way. For why? For what is this? I don't want to say to God, "I chose You because I didn't have anything better to do." Imagine if that was how you were asked to the prom: "All the other girls had already been asked, so I guess you and I have to go together." Wouldn't you rather, "I choose you," - straight up? It doesn't matter who else there was, what should be the first move is to say, I wanted You first; You and You only. OK, I think we're getting somewhere. I smell progress. Agh.. oh, to put into action the things I "learn"...
Monday, 12 February 2007
things that piss me off (2)
#3 When Christians think that talking poorly about celebrities does not count as gossipping.
What difference does it make if you know the person or if they are in the public eye? I think it's an absolute outrage and a self-satisfying LIE to say that being stalked and ogled and slandered and harshly judged and brutalized by double-standards is part of being a celebrity and that those people chose the lifestyle so they should just deal with it. NO. Their behavior is not what dictates or excuses your own.
So what if she is 10 years older than he is or if he is 25 years older than she? So what if so-and-so had an abortion or addiction to drugs or car crash or passed out from drinking or made a mistake? Who made you arbiter and judge? Who have you decided is worth your time? Who have you decided - by pre-judging, mark you - you will respect? The worst are attacks on non-behavioral stuff.. What is she wearing? How can she let herself hang all out like that? You would say this kind of thing to your mother, straight to her face, with that attitude? Who have you decided is worth you being nice to? How is that the love of Christ? I don't care if you'll never meet them. Jesus didn't care if you actually had sex with a woman who was not your wife, His beef was with your lustful thoughts. See your world and its inhabitants with God's eyes (you know, the ones that have compassion and unconditional love) but leave the judgement up to Him.
What difference does it make if you know the person or if they are in the public eye? I think it's an absolute outrage and a self-satisfying LIE to say that being stalked and ogled and slandered and harshly judged and brutalized by double-standards is part of being a celebrity and that those people chose the lifestyle so they should just deal with it. NO. Their behavior is not what dictates or excuses your own.
So what if she is 10 years older than he is or if he is 25 years older than she? So what if so-and-so had an abortion or addiction to drugs or car crash or passed out from drinking or made a mistake? Who made you arbiter and judge? Who have you decided is worth your time? Who have you decided - by pre-judging, mark you - you will respect? The worst are attacks on non-behavioral stuff.. What is she wearing? How can she let herself hang all out like that? You would say this kind of thing to your mother, straight to her face, with that attitude? Who have you decided is worth you being nice to? How is that the love of Christ? I don't care if you'll never meet them. Jesus didn't care if you actually had sex with a woman who was not your wife, His beef was with your lustful thoughts. See your world and its inhabitants with God's eyes (you know, the ones that have compassion and unconditional love) but leave the judgement up to Him.
Sunday, 11 February 2007
the time I cried in the library
I am trying to clean out my email account's Outbox right now (seeing as it contains well over 3600 messages - and that's only from January 2005!) and I came across this weird flood of memories from 28 January, 2005.
Dear Mother,
I jsut found out that the reason I am still waiting for the second portion of my OSAP funding to be released is that they want $19.27 in interest charges from mefirst. I hate this because nobody told me about that, they just said the money would be here by yesterday. I can't even get textbooks and I have two essays due next week. I guess you don't need to worry about that but I was wondering if, when I'm in Etobicoke, you could front me for a pair of shoes.. the ones I have are too small and they're causing me problems. I can just pay you backfrom the loan.. whenever it comes, next week.
I love you.
jesskah
I remember feeling bad (either the next day or later on this one) for writing "I love you" since I had never said it before or since and thought it was rather cheap that I only wrote the words when I was under deep emotional stress - "crying to mommy," I guess - and perhaps not-so-subtley asking for money. I was trying not to but I knew that if I told her what was going on, she'd hook me up. I'm sure that phrase stuck out oddly to her.
I distinctly remember finishing my conversation with an OSAP representative and being told this stupid news. I suppose it was the piled-high stress of everything else that weakened me/worsened the situation but I know I definitely had some tears rolling down my face as I composed the above email. I was kinda hoping I would run into someone I knew and kinda not. I didn't. I crack easily under the frustration of unnecessary stupidness.
The other thing that's weird about this email is that I signed my proper name. I am sure that, out of all the emails I have ever sent my mother (and many of the hand-written correspondances I have with her) I have NEVER signed my real name, except for here. Generally what I'll write is some kind of onomatopia or household name or description or random noun or something connected to my email or nothing at all - never something sensible and never consistent. It's an understanding we have. She never signs "mother" or "Annette" either. Her last email ended thusly, "smychies-held-together-with-a-kilt-pin, Zig". At least she always has a varient of "smychies" and "Zig" in there but otherwise... I have a weird family.
Second-to-last email:
snippy-tappy-McHobo
Zig
Third-to-last:
Smychies,
Zig
Fourth last:
Poobin-in-a-clampetty-cream-sauce,
Zig
Some of mine, starting with the most recent, all from this week:
peeping o'toolehan
McDonald (with two farms)
john [preceding line worth including: your face is on fire... shall I stamp it out with a large cabbage?]
jemples
poopsnack
All I have to say is that I don't understand how anyone would want to marry into this... I mean it's bad enough when you can't help yourself. But to think there may be some nutjob who would actually want to get engrafted into this family is simply outRAgeous. I say this as if anyone knows what I'm talking about.
My brother once said, after I had laughed hysterically - just me - about something neither he nor my sister thought funny, "That's why Jess is a Christian, because God is the only one who understands her." It's especiallement funny to me that he didn't know how right he must be/is/was.
Dear Mother,
I jsut found out that the reason I am still waiting for the second portion of my OSAP funding to be released is that they want $19.27 in interest charges from mefirst. I hate this because nobody told me about that, they just said the money would be here by yesterday. I can't even get textbooks and I have two essays due next week. I guess you don't need to worry about that but I was wondering if, when I'm in Etobicoke, you could front me for a pair of shoes.. the ones I have are too small and they're causing me problems. I can just pay you backfrom the loan.. whenever it comes, next week.
I love you.
jesskah
I remember feeling bad (either the next day or later on this one) for writing "I love you" since I had never said it before or since and thought it was rather cheap that I only wrote the words when I was under deep emotional stress - "crying to mommy," I guess - and perhaps not-so-subtley asking for money. I was trying not to but I knew that if I told her what was going on, she'd hook me up. I'm sure that phrase stuck out oddly to her.
I distinctly remember finishing my conversation with an OSAP representative and being told this stupid news. I suppose it was the piled-high stress of everything else that weakened me/worsened the situation but I know I definitely had some tears rolling down my face as I composed the above email. I was kinda hoping I would run into someone I knew and kinda not. I didn't. I crack easily under the frustration of unnecessary stupidness.
The other thing that's weird about this email is that I signed my proper name. I am sure that, out of all the emails I have ever sent my mother (and many of the hand-written correspondances I have with her) I have NEVER signed my real name, except for here. Generally what I'll write is some kind of onomatopia or household name or description or random noun or something connected to my email or nothing at all - never something sensible and never consistent. It's an understanding we have. She never signs "mother" or "Annette" either. Her last email ended thusly, "smychies-held-together-with-a-kilt-pin, Zig". At least she always has a varient of "smychies" and "Zig" in there but otherwise... I have a weird family.
Second-to-last email:
snippy-tappy-McHobo
Zig
Third-to-last:
Smychies,
Zig
Fourth last:
Poobin-in-a-clampetty-cream-sauce,
Zig
Some of mine, starting with the most recent, all from this week:
peeping o'toolehan
McDonald (with two farms)
john [preceding line worth including: your face is on fire... shall I stamp it out with a large cabbage?]
jemples
poopsnack
All I have to say is that I don't understand how anyone would want to marry into this... I mean it's bad enough when you can't help yourself. But to think there may be some nutjob who would actually want to get engrafted into this family is simply outRAgeous. I say this as if anyone knows what I'm talking about.
My brother once said, after I had laughed hysterically - just me - about something neither he nor my sister thought funny, "That's why Jess is a Christian, because God is the only one who understands her." It's especiallement funny to me that he didn't know how right he must be/is/was.
what I like about my mother
Back in the day, my mother sent a bottle of Exlax to Bobby Orr (that's right - snail mailed a full bottle) because she though he was full of shit. I find that funny on so many levels that I won't even talk about it. ha
Wednesday, 7 February 2007
sometimes I post when I'm sitting in class
Execution Poems is a collection of poems written by George Elliot Clarke that creates a raucous, vulgar & captivating narrative for the events preceding his Haligonian cousins', George and Rufus, hanging in 1949. They murdered a taxi driver named Silver with a hammer for his $200 because they needed to feed their families. The book is fascinating and I encourage you to read it. Ask me, and I will gladly lend/send to you. You can read it in 90 minutes, I promise. Here's a cool spin-around from a poem called "The Killers" which is the most explicit this-is-how-it-happened account of the specific act. I am reminded of A Time to Kill and I'll spare you a plot summary there (meaning I am privaleging those with knowledge! ha!).
Rue: Here's how I justify my error:
The blow that slew Silver come from two centuries back.
It took that much time and agony to turn a white man's whip
into a black man's hammer (35).
Clarke, George Elliot. Execution Poems. Wolfville, Nova Scotia: Gaspereau Press, 2001.
Rue: Here's how I justify my error:
The blow that slew Silver come from two centuries back.
It took that much time and agony to turn a white man's whip
into a black man's hammer (35).
Clarke, George Elliot. Execution Poems. Wolfville, Nova Scotia: Gaspereau Press, 2001.
Monday, 5 February 2007
[Sometimes I think I am too easily pleased. This image (forsaking the photograph) strikes me. I can't put words on it and I doubt anyone sees it the way I do. I like the whole kitchen but this very tall & narrow wall of pan racks and lids always stops my eyes for a moment when they cross my path. I like the green that I can only describe as "frosty" and "mint". I like how the green recurrs in small unintentional places elsewhere in the kitchen like the dishcloths and Swiffer handle, as you see but also the rug and dishsoap by the sink that you don't see. I like that there is much white and deep, warm brown on the floors, every thing dynamic and silent. I like it.]
Sunday, 4 February 2007
on being sick
some pros:
-My appetite is all but dead.
I end up eating either so I'll have something to wretch or (hm... now I'm thinking about "Amazing Grace" differently...) because I know I will need energy, being human and all. It's good to know how much food is actually necessary and how much is pleasurable.
-Lying in bed for long times comes without guilt.
-I get to appreciate the human body's merveilleux power to heal itself.
some cons:
-I can't laugh very often, either because it hurts or because I am too distracted by pain to find anything funny.
This I missed dearly.
-The world continues to spin.
I am forced to choose which commitments I will trudge on and pursue and which I will be forced to break.
I wish I had put the "good stuff" last so I will end with this: my spell under the influence of influenza has taught me that God is ever watchful and ever righteous. He is good.
-My appetite is all but dead.
I end up eating either so I'll have something to wretch or (hm... now I'm thinking about "Amazing Grace" differently...) because I know I will need energy, being human and all. It's good to know how much food is actually necessary and how much is pleasurable.
-Lying in bed for long times comes without guilt.
-I get to appreciate the human body's merveilleux power to heal itself.
some cons:
-I can't laugh very often, either because it hurts or because I am too distracted by pain to find anything funny.
This I missed dearly.
-The world continues to spin.
I am forced to choose which commitments I will trudge on and pursue and which I will be forced to break.
I wish I had put the "good stuff" last so I will end with this: my spell under the influence of influenza has taught me that God is ever watchful and ever righteous. He is good.
Saturday, 3 February 2007
in music
are we more concerned with upsetting people
or rocking the strong-hulled boat of tradition
or with pleasing God?
or rocking the strong-hulled boat of tradition
or with pleasing God?
Thursday, 1 February 2007
on daily devotions / devotionals / quiet time (with God)
Our defiance seems reasonable.
"I don't like the straps. They're too tight, the material chafes my shoulders and the color of the straps actually doesn't match with my shirt.
"This backpack is pretty heavy and bulky and annoying. I mean, what is this thing sticking out of the back here? Could I maybe take a satchel or a single-strap side-bag? What if I just carried the backpack by this handle here up top?
"Oh there's straps that fit around my waist, too?!? You have got to be kidding me. Do you have any idea how irritating that will be? I don't want to pinch my fingers in that huge buckle when I try to fasten it! Hazard! Hazard!
"What's in there, anyways? I just want to know -- why are you trying to make me carry this stupid bag? It's such an ugly shape, too. It'll probably ruin my posture. If you make me do this, I am sending you the chiropracter bill."
But the reality is stark and unforgiving.
Jumping out of an aeroplane without your parachute is plain stupid.
"I don't like the straps. They're too tight, the material chafes my shoulders and the color of the straps actually doesn't match with my shirt.
"This backpack is pretty heavy and bulky and annoying. I mean, what is this thing sticking out of the back here? Could I maybe take a satchel or a single-strap side-bag? What if I just carried the backpack by this handle here up top?
"Oh there's straps that fit around my waist, too?!? You have got to be kidding me. Do you have any idea how irritating that will be? I don't want to pinch my fingers in that huge buckle when I try to fasten it! Hazard! Hazard!
"What's in there, anyways? I just want to know -- why are you trying to make me carry this stupid bag? It's such an ugly shape, too. It'll probably ruin my posture. If you make me do this, I am sending you the chiropracter bill."
But the reality is stark and unforgiving.
Jumping out of an aeroplane without your parachute is plain stupid.
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