tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14775930200917765692024-02-19T16:38:13.510-08:00origami duckthere's a story for everythingangelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.comBlogger11125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-40308149457213694532011-07-11T09:36:00.001-07:002011-07-11T09:36:58.522-07:00tag teamback again. <br /><br />it's like i just can't stay away!angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-34799302044335745352010-04-15T09:31:00.000-07:002010-05-06T21:11:30.113-07:00children are not dogs, but we all need to peetoday i was walking the jack-pug, and we were told off by by a man outside an apartment building. <br /><br />he began his tirade with a smile and a hello, which, in retrospect, makes me angry because i did not equate the smile with potential hostility. i get lots of friendly comments and hellos from people when i'm with the jack-pug. he's a quirky looking little guy. and he was sniffing around, as dogs tend to do.<br /><br />"i saw you this morning," said the man. (switching gears, now that he's got me all unsuspecting.) "you were on the grass. it's private property. there's a sign."<br /><br />there is a sign, yes, at the front of the building, behind a fence. i do not take the jack-pug behind the fence. indeed, i do not take the jack-pug onto people's gardens or flower patches. and should i even have to say it, i pick up his poo, neatly, in bags.<br /><br />"we didn't even come this way this morning!" i said, stung by the surprise attack. (actually, we may have. ooops.)<br /><br />the patch of grass in question lies parallel to the sidewalk. i have yet to see a dog pass by it without stopping to sniff. it runs along the sidewalk for about half a block, and it's about ten feet deep. on the other side? a fence. beyond which is the apartment building.<br /><br />so here is my narcissistic, excuse-making rant. i have no excuse for it except that i am, all out of proportion, hurt by this. why the fuck, angry apartment dude, are you so pissed off, pun intended, about dog pee? digging, i can understand. leaving piles of crap, i can understand. but what the hell bothers you so much about my twenty-pound dog treading on your precious, mangy stretch of unkempt ground to lift his leg and deposit a quarter-teaspoon of pee? and if it bothers you so much, so very much, so much that you have to stand there and wait for a recognizable dog to come by just so you can harangue the owner, <span style="font-style:italic;">why don't you move the fence so your holy ground doesn't look like public property?</span><br /><br />that's all.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-52409258091350298072010-04-12T10:57:00.001-07:002010-05-06T21:14:09.910-07:00and we were singin', bye bye little anakin guy!last friday i had an unexpected evening on my own. the lovely boyfriend and i live in a small apartment and tend to do a lot of things together, because, i don't know, we like each other, or something? anyway, last friday he had a work event to attend. i, as the shameless mooch half of this relationship, had no work to go to and stayed at home.<br /><br />the first thing i thought of when i realized i had an evening to myself was - what am i going to make for dinner? i'm not tremendously hungry, but i need sustenance, and for once, there's no one's taste to take into account but mine.<br /><br />i made a caesar salad, a big one. i pulled out the flexetarian card and added some bacon. what a sensual pleasure is eating alone, with nothing to focus on but flavour and texture and the feel of food in my mouth. soft but delicately crisp romaine, salty, smoky bacon, assertively crunchy croutons, silky bright-tasting dressing with the edge of strong parmiggiano cheese. it was good.<br /><br />of course, woman cannot live on salad alone. she needs the word of lucas. after a quick skim of our dvds i popped 'star wars' into the player. oh goodness, that movie. it's so earnest, with some terribly obvious acting, but the pace is engaging and the story is compelling and the sheer charisma of alec guiness and harrison ford (and the enthusiasm of those less talented) just carries you along to the inevitable conclusion. yes! fuck you, empire! take that!<br /><br />the lb and i continued with moody 'empire strikes back' on saturday (do you know, i never really noticed how bloody nervewracking it was to experience the millenium falcon being pursued through the entire course of that movie? the whole thing is just one long endless pursuit!) and finished up with feel-good 'jedi' on sunday. (we had another caesar salad, but alas, an inferior one. i blame tasteless metro-brand romaine.) 'jedi' gets a lot of (deserved) crap for those silly ewoks, who are a big honkin' ass metaphor for colonized peoples if there ever was one, but dammit, they are <i>cute</i>. and yes, harrison ford is less than thrilled to be there at this point, but when he says, "hey, it's me!" with that shit-eating grin i couldn't care less about contract obligations. and up to this point, the intrusive stupid retroactive in-jokes that lucas put in can be forgotten. yes, there's the foolish interlude with a digital jabba in 'star wars' that slows down the pace and adds nothing, but okay, it makes a good bathroom break. the sarlac (sarlaac?) has a silly snapping clumsily added beak, but so what? luke did a freaking triple backflip and destroyed the barge! up to this point i can forget that the prequels ever existed, which is frankly how it should be.<br /><br />but at the end of 'jedi'? LUCAS PUT HAYDEN CHRISTIANSEN IN THE LAST SCENE. yes, yes he did. with yoda and alec guiness and looking all saintly-like. seriously lucas? what did you have to go and screw up my movie for? i will not see your prequels! you can't make me!<br />on second thought, i bet it's hayden's fault my salad tasted gross. yeah.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-66245564491247344282010-01-18T07:30:00.000-08:002010-01-18T07:32:02.187-08:00in which i come crawling backum, hi. i'm back, blog. i made a terrible mistake but i realized that i still love you. forgive me! i promise i'll make it up to you.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-45469004817914135692008-01-16T07:15:00.000-08:002010-02-09T18:20:05.455-08:00abort abort abortas cheeky as that sounds, i think i want to be talking about abortion today.<br /><br />nobody wants to like abortion. it's kind of a freaky thing, to end a pregnancy. no matter how you feel about the process, something dies that could have eventually drawn breath. and this is me talking, me who feels that you're not a person until you're born and breathing.<br /><br />but at the same time, abortion is <i>necessary.</i> access to safe, hassle-free, medical abortions is the only way to knowingly address a huge societal imbalance, namely that <i>we do not live in a sexually fair society.</i> i don't care how much the anti-feminists want to rant and rave that we're overeacting and we have nothing to complain about and we're so aggressive and blah blah fishcakes. women <i>don't</i> get taken seriously as intellectual forces, women <i>don't</i> earn what men earn, women's contributions to society <i>aren't</i> given enough credit, and therefore women <i>don't</i> have the same social freedom that men do.<br /><br />women and girls deserve a way to correct a situation that they don't want to be in. it doesn't matter if they enjoyed the sex or not, it doesn't matter if they were using birth control or not, * it doesn't matter if they were in a steady committed relationship or the school slut or divinely turkey-bastered with the holy sperm of the flying spaghetti monster. ending one's pregnancy is, for a lot of women, the solution that lets them <i>keep their lives the way they were;</i> in other words, it's what we consider the best possible outcome when we make a mistake or get into an accident. of any kind. thank goodness, no one got hurt, we learned something, let's put this behind us.<br /><br />and this is why it worries me that abortion is undergoing a re-demonization in popular culture.<br /><br />it is bad enough that you have your bible-thumpers and militant pro-lifers picketing clinics instead of handing out condoms or engaging in dialogue. but at least that's upfront, out there, understandable. when abortion becomes something that's not even an option in pop culture, it adds another taboo to what's already difficult enough to come to terms with getting. consider:<br /><i><br /></i><i>- </i>miranda's decision in season five of "sex and the city" to go through with her pregnancy. (for all the show's a satire, it was really well done, though; they'd established miranda's mixed feelings about wanting to have a child early on)<br />- "saved," where a teenage christian goes through with her pregnancy in spite of the social ostracism that goes with it (again, kind of understandable. she's a christian!)<br /><a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/story/RTGAM.20080115.wltimson15/BNStory/lifeMain/home">- "knocked up," where abortion isn't really an option, and<br />-"juno," ditto.<br /></a><br />one of the fine ladies at BUST posted photos of lilly allen and jaime lynn spears on the magazine's blog, under the heading <a href="http://www.bust.com/index.php?blogid=1&page=2">"i'm sorry, but haven't any of these people heard of abortions?"</a> . not pc, for sure, maybe a bit insensitive? perhaps. but relevant? for heaven's sake, yes. if i were sixteen or twenty-one and just starting to get a career established and dating a) a nineteen year old who didn't want to be a dad or b) some guy fifteen years older than i - FOR THREE MONTHS, i'd damn well be thinking about it! and i should be, because for all that ideas of morality are relative and subjective, ideas about social realities aren't. being a single mother is hard. being a young mother is hard. being the child of a young, single mother is setting you up to be poor.<br /><br />not hating on young parents, people. or single parents, or people who decide not to have abortions. i am hating on the idea that abortion can be dismissed out of hand as something that only the heartless can do.<br /><br />abortion is an option. and it's a personal one that will affect each person differently. we have no right to dictate how someone should feel about it, if they should be crying tears of blood and lighting candles every year on the anniversary of their proceedure or whatnot. when we attach such angsty emotional baggage to it, someone who can walk away from an abortion, still functional and even relieved, becomes a frigid unnatural maneating bitch.<br /><br />which is hurtful.<br /><br />and unfair.<br /><br />and funnily enough, directed towards women.<br /><br />it took so long to get here, even here, even to this imperfect place. i don't want to go back.<br /><br /><br />* in my opinion, not using birth control when you don't want to get pregnant = stupid. HOWEVER. does that make it right or fair or smart to say, "stupid little girl, you got pregnant. now you can't have an abortion because you don't want to be stupid AND EVIL, do you?" AND with the megastupid idea of teaching abstinence-only sex education in schools, we're raising a whole generation of deliberately-kept stupids, as opposed to the i-know-better-but-i'm-lazy kind of stupid. and anyway, the contraception thing could fuel a whole other rant, believe me.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-48987730856762050472008-01-09T09:44:00.001-08:002008-01-09T10:17:09.806-08:00wherefore and whyi'm beginning to ponder why people blog. why they do it, why i do it, why i read them. why i've connected - sortof - with a cupcake obsessesed housewife in north carolina and a group of fat feminists in chicago, and why i come back to my blog time and time again, even if i have a readership of one.<br /><br />i enjoy kate harding's "shapely prose" a lot. more than that, i learn. every day day i learn as she vocalizing something that's fierce and funny and thoughtful and MAKES ME THINK about fat. thinking, not worrying! i don't think i'm "too fat" - i'm just "fat," in the same way that i have brown hair and glasses and am tall. i don't feel guilty anymore. i've changed my goal from "lose x number of pounds" to "run twenty minutes on the treadmill." and that is due, let me give credit where it belongs, to a blog written by three women that i know as kate harding, fillyjonk, and sweet machine. it's kind of ridiculous, because i always think of the first as "kateharding," all one word. if i met her on the street, i couldn't just call her "kate!" i know about her private life, her boyfriend, her opinions and her history (my goodness gracious, what on EARTH must be like to be the SKINNIEST person in your family?) and i've lurked, i suppose, in the comments pages, and seen the close relationships she has with a lot of her readers. but i'm not one of them - at least not yet, nor am i sure i want to be known for posterity as some snazzy disembodied username like "origamiduck," or something.<br /><br />i know why i read her blog. i read it because it educates me, it's amusing, and intelligent, and thoughtful, and says things that many people don't dare to say because being fat is associated with shame and hate. it's easy to rag on fat people because we're all so damn afraid of being one of those fat people that everybody rags on - a CIRCULAR ARGUMENT if there ever was one (and NOT a tautology, thank you very much, stupid australian english teachers). but why on earth does kateharding WRITE it?<br /><br />because she's a writer, and writers write! because she's writing about principles that are difficult to maintain in one's own life, even if you KNOW they're true. you hate yourself for eating 'too much' sometimes, even if you're hungry, even if your boyfriend eats less (or in my case, weighs less. not much less, but still less. hey, man has no boobs!) and this is why i blog too, i think. i write to remind myself of who i am and what i'm thinking, even if it's dorky. i write because i love words and i could use the practice. <br /><br />and i write because i like it.<br /><br />it's in the sun above, it's in the one you love, you'll never know the reason why.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-39796027541128019012007-11-23T08:06:00.000-08:002007-11-23T10:30:15.743-08:00braaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaains . . .i am a late person. i try to be on time, really i do - i know how disrespectful it is to be constantly late, and how inconvenient, and blah blah blah, but i am BAD WITH MORNINGS and WORSE WITH DEADLINES. today, i was late for work; but for once it was not my fault.<br /><br />as i walked into the subway station today, i heard a train pull away. no worries - i picked up a metro, went downstairs, and prepared to wait. a train pulled in, packed to the rafters. i didn't try to board. it left and another train came, more full than the last one. i stayed on the platform. another train came and went. and another. and they were all dangerously overloaded.<br /><br />obviously something was up. every entryway was jammed with people and you couldn't see through to the other platform through the windows. the platform began to fill up with people who were, like me, waiting to catch a subway. a few held back, but some exceptionally foolish citizens attempted to rush the doors. some wiggled through, thanks more to the kindness of strangers than to their own pigheadedness.<br /><br />then a train went out of service and there was pandemonium! disgruntled passengers everywhere on platform, protesting loudly! i'm not going to say that i wasn't pissed off - because that would be a lie - but quite frankly, there was no one to complain to and nothing to be done by complaining. the subway system was fubar, and none of us were going to get to work on time.<br /><br />now here's where the story gets creepy. trains kept crawling in, going at the snail's pace that means there's trouble somewhere on the line. people were jammed in every possible space. the glass was fogged and hands were pressed against windows. and yet, every time the train would creak to a stop to let people disembark, the sea of humanity around me would heave and shuffle and gravitate to the doors. it was like a horror movie. people had been zapped of common sense and were launching themseves slowly but inexorably inside the subway cars. like zombies, they lurched and mumbled, intent on their dopey purpose . . . to get in and suck on brains, i guess.<br /><br />i went home after an hour. i passed a paramedic vehicle on my way out. i hope they do brain transfers.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-26395553444976108082007-11-20T10:17:00.000-08:002007-11-20T11:34:14.788-08:00magpie<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByg2O4BfC9rKeijYELnvmfMdXO_VhOqlpsYDXY3jXIccHQG01aRycAaLd_J48WyWOha9Kg8ii27gBXcJ3NOak-EB9L4RyBRmLAd3KkneDkx-034scTTi2efpcsrv1KFRSuIP7SC7UznU/s1600-h/pearl+collar+closeup.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135000562986442578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 258px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" height="240" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByg2O4BfC9rKeijYELnvmfMdXO_VhOqlpsYDXY3jXIccHQG01aRycAaLd_J48WyWOha9Kg8ii27gBXcJ3NOak-EB9L4RyBRmLAd3KkneDkx-034scTTi2efpcsrv1KFRSuIP7SC7UznU/s320/pearl+collar+closeup.jpg" width="286" border="0" /></a>i love me some glittery sparkly stuff. and i do love me a wedding. in fact, the only thing that could be better than sparklies or a wedding is sparklies AND a wedding. to quote roberto; goodness gracious me, i think i have the vapours.<br /><br /><div>i've been putzing around with glass and silver, pearl and crystal for almost four years now. i started in australia - i was bored, i was lonely, and i really really liked jewellery. i passed by a bead store on swanson street every day on my way to class, and when i finally though to go in, i was hooked. french-hooked. i've thought and thought about trying to sell the hundreds of pretty little baubles that i churn out, if only to subsidize my addiction, and always come back to the idea that perhaps i'm not quite good enough for that yet.<br /></div><div>and then - a very old friend, bless 'er, got the bright idea that perhaps i could make some trinkets for her bridesmaids to wear at her fairytale winter wedding next year. i said yes so fast i think i made her head spin. now i dream of swarovski crystal bicones and think in terms of millimetres. my mind is filled with the creamy glow of white freshwater pearls and constantly mulling over the possibilities of top-to-bottom drilled vs. sideways. i ponder shapes and textures and colours and patterns of all sorts.<br /></div><div>here's what else has come out of that so far:<br /></div><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDMYEqaUNMjl2KAHZuKErxbY_5h91qG9bgQ174KFOj2bweM4iXE5_-nsht4TdkDunx80Omqmayw0vktG67mqLibmM7RAsxGZStHg-fUswTyRBv4zndqFxqVHT1xA_SSY_TuEq_C_sdqU/s1600-h/CIMG0552.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135000588756246370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdDMYEqaUNMjl2KAHZuKErxbY_5h91qG9bgQ174KFOj2bweM4iXE5_-nsht4TdkDunx80Omqmayw0vktG67mqLibmM7RAsxGZStHg-fUswTyRBv4zndqFxqVHT1xA_SSY_TuEq_C_sdqU/s320/CIMG0552.JPG" border="0" /></a></p><div><br /><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/14513357@N02/2046911473/"></a><br /></div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/14513357@N02/2046911969/"></a><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div><br /></div><p align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135000618821017474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhropFNM_Xw1T6APZzeryGnHAKhPuR8LE5HtH5wBvTGiZj_0B3l4EWPU-39HjE6vZmbN8-TbZdHDaCExGE1XVNx6yKcJ5GzhL9dB75MGMuX9fXXGybjr3b-ORC0SMVUUcHMxaNjC4i7jAE/s320/CIMG0544.JPG" border="0" /></p><p align="left"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p><div><br /></div><div></div><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxVspjiLYAWbM4zzgW0lFfK3Hb6W19x0OKUUPl-H0aJZPF4qUU1gSBK4InGVfzwGHGifo9NhWDotlnL6P-adDttoMW2kwogruv9uSnk-ccFxtGWRI2nN6YHTLQYtReDByHTKNVnNzKq8/s1600-h/CIMG0706.JPG"></a></p><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxVspjiLYAWbM4zzgW0lFfK3Hb6W19x0OKUUPl-H0aJZPF4qUU1gSBK4InGVfzwGHGifo9NhWDotlnL6P-adDttoMW2kwogruv9uSnk-ccFxtGWRI2nN6YHTLQYtReDByHTKNVnNzKq8/s1600-h/CIMG0706.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5135002212253884306" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxxVspjiLYAWbM4zzgW0lFfK3Hb6W19x0OKUUPl-H0aJZPF4qUU1gSBK4InGVfzwGHGifo9NhWDotlnL6P-adDttoMW2kwogruv9uSnk-ccFxtGWRI2nN6YHTLQYtReDByHTKNVnNzKq8/s320/CIMG0706.JPG" border="0" /></a></div><div><br /><br /></div><div></div><div><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. all so terribly exciting! and it gets me thinking, too, about what's next - cool pale green jade and silver? bright sea-blue and rich bronze-y copper? can't wait to try it out. being an academic feels good(ish). being a magpie -artisan feels even better. </div>angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-28750859886030629952007-11-12T11:37:00.000-08:002007-11-19T09:28:08.136-08:00sixteen tonsi need to start by stating that i know it's all about loving yourself and being comfortable in your own skin. i need to say that i believe fashion magazines are pure garbage and that north americans hate fat people . . . even though we are fat people. i also, most importantly, need to say that the only thing that defines beauty is a lack of definition. virginia woolf is beautiful in a long, pointy-nose kind of way. natalie portman is beautiful in a tiny, big-eyed, childlike kind of way. queen latifah is beautiful in a zaftig kind of way. having said all that, i think i'm too fat.<br /><br />i've ballooned twice in the past two years - once last xmas, when i had my standard grad-student-nervous-breakdown, and once again in the past two months as i stumbled over the deadline. i have three pairs of pants that fit me and all my shirts ride up too high. my waist is getting thicker and thicker. i need to wear the awful-named plus-size. OR DO I? who the hell knows? everyone's so damn concerned about what's beautiful and what's not that any standardization in sizing (an idea that has its own problems) goes out the window.<br /><br />ran down to reitman's in an attempt to find something to wear to my graduation on friday. found three shirts and one dress, went for size 16 in all of them. (size sixteen plus size, not size sixteen normal. reitman's normal stuff goes up to fifteen, but plus starts at fourteen. AND A PLUS FOURTEEN MAY OR MAY NOT BE THE SAME AS A NORMAL FOURTEEN. WTF?)<br /><br />one sixteen fit. one sixteen was too snug around the breasts but hung like a sack around the middle and sleeves. one was too small. one was too big. and these are four pieces in the same size from the same line from the same store.<br /><br />why am i telling you this? i'm telling myself that the label is nothing but a damn number that makes no sense to anyone anyway. nobody sees my label but me, so why should i care if it says fourteen or sixteen or eighteen or thirty-two?<br /><br />(well, because i think i'm too fat. but at least i'm fat and i have a pretty blouse to wear at my graduation. small mercies, no pun intended.)angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-34272285437886890182007-11-01T07:45:00.000-07:002007-11-01T08:03:07.773-07:00if that's all there is, my friends, then let's keep dancingi am feeling a bit like peggy lee in the later years of her life. a little fat, a little bloated, way too comfortable in clothes with no waist, and inclined to ask "is that all there is?" <br /><br />maybe it's the inevitable letdown from having lived off of adrenaline for the past two years. there was always some crisis ready to rear its ugly head, whether it was illness or death in the family, a monstrous cash shortage, or impending academic deadlines. i hated it all and i kept telling myself to keep slugging it out, to just hang in there, and it would be over eventually. and now it is over, and how do i feel? bored and lazy, that's how. <br /><br />you know how good it feels to have a productive day? when everyone you call is there on the end of the line and you can put a satisfying "tick" next to yet another item on the mental "to-do" list? sometimes i have those days. but more often then not, i'll take the crazy jack-pug out and then collapse on the couch to do some reading. and readings all well and good, but not if you fall asleep until four in the afternoon. <br /><br />sadly, days at work aren't much better. it's so still and quiet here, in this cubicle within a room with no windows (if such a thing as a blip in space time exists, it'd be in a contemporary office building). i have enough to keep me busy but every task is made up of thousands of other little tasks that never seem to go anywhere, like a recipe with thirty ingredients and forty steps that winds up as scrambled eggs anyway. i lack fire under my ass.<br /><br />so i've adopted the one-thing-at-a-time philosophy. i'm employed and i'm going to pay my bills. i'm going to finish organizing my apartment. i'm going to focus on my health and look for a job that challenges and excites me. i'm going to go to europe next summer and i'm going to publish my last MA essay and i'm going to keep on dancing, because there are few things so terrible that we can't find a way to live through it. the fire, she is a leetle smoulder now. but the lighter fluid, she gets added drop by drop until we have brisk, beautiful, dancing flames.<br /><br />manana.angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1477593020091776569.post-4805864524374047202007-10-03T11:52:00.000-07:002007-10-03T11:59:27.653-07:00return to the land of the livingnew blog. new day. same origami ducks.<br /><br />to pick up where i left off - back in april i started to compile data for a big, comics-related project. it was to be the last piece of a very long, very painful m.a. i was so close! so close! so i decided that i would have to take a break from blogging while i finished writing.<br /><br />and then, i lost my job.<br /><br />it was not a good time.<br /><br />but six months later, it is over. i am here and i am telling you that i am not going. heeeeeeeeee. i tried to return to my sweet, overprocessed windows live space, but there was just too much crap going on there - photos and lists and booklists and blah blah blah, when all i ever posted was in the blog column. so i've similtaneously slimmed down and bulked up, and i'm looking forward to pouring my heart out into the cold, sweet emptiness of cyberspace.<br /><br />it feels strange to be writing this and not have it be procrastination. what am i going to do with myself?angelahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17086332717398796003noreply@blogger.com0