Category: ragdoll rambles

1. Wear brand-new shoes to a book launch. My pointe shoes from the last year of high school were less painful.

2. Thanks to all who offered up their music suggestions. I’ve made a list and am going to try out Last.fm to see what’s going to stick. I’ve already found one record that I am enjoying very much from listening to concerts on All Songs Considered: Nada Surf‘s Lucky. It’s most excellent. This is obviously a GOOD point, not a BAD point.

3. Watch the same, truly lame, film I watched last night. I’m not going to blather on about all that was wrong with it, except to say that it’s a movie with parts based in Ireland, with characters who are Irish, and were there no actual Irish actors available? Only American actors with really bad accents, and one Scottish guy who had the worst accent of them all. It’s as if he didn’t even try. Someone said, “grand” and I threw up a little in my mouth. But whatever. The script contained lines like the following:

Person A: Where are all the good men then?

Person B: With all the wrong women.

Fast forward to a scene where Person B meets a handsome, interesting fellow and the conversation goes as such:

Person B: Where have you been all my life (seriously?)

Person C: With all the wrong women.

Gack.

4. Say goodbyes after having two glasses of wine and having no feeling in their feet. You’ll really, really wish you could remember what you said.

5. Wake up slightly tired and kind of hungover and watch far, far too much Tom Green TV. If I were, ahem, younger, I might even consider making a ridiculous video and trying to get his RV to come to our cottage. But I am too old for that stuff. Plus, my RRHB would mock me mercilessly. As would many other people I know.

6. Leave your hand-written edits on your desk for your slightly troubled cat to rip to shreds with her teeth. Having the m/s open on the desk also leaves room for her to barf up a hairball or two, and then get her cat litter everywhere. It’s not pretty. She needs constant management. Ah, pets.

7. Forget one of your best friend’s birthday for the, um, third year in a row. Luckily, I have written myself a giant note and pasted in on the monitor so I have to look at it everyday.

8. Have a sore throat and have no throat tea. Everyone (coworkers, RRHB) is sick around me, which means it’s just a matter of time. I feel decidedly under the weather today, my throat is killing me and I’m not happy about it. Oh, and the farking TTC went on strike.

Perhaps it’s not such a long list.

1. One should not drink three beers and then scream “mouse” in a crowded restaurant. It’s not that there wasn’t a mouse (there was; he scurried) but it could have upset people who would be less than thrilled about said rodent in the same place where they’re eating. Hence the hushing and talking-to by management.

2. Edit while intoxicated. It makes notation quite messy, although does inspire a feeling of acting like Carson McCullers and wanting a flask. Somehow, I think though that beer would not keep quite right in a flask.

3. Drink three beers on the night before meeting an author at the ungoshly hour of 9 AM. Also, don’t wear new shoes, trip over your purse, and then tumble into a stack of books on your desk that then falls to the floor. Because that’s not embarrassing AT ALL.

4. Wear a white shirt on a day that you’re tired. It’s just asking for trouble.

5. Ponder the fact that you’d come across not one but two people named Calvin within the space of 12 hours, note that that doesn’t even include the one whose name is tattooed on your underwear, and act truly goofy when you try to tell the story of running into all these cavalcades of Calvins. People will look at you strangely.

6. Attempt to watch PS I Love You after drinking three beers and eating nachos. Harder liquor might be required.

7. Try to read so late at night that the same paragraph feels fresh and new despite going over it at least seven times. It’s not your fault DeNiro’s Game, I promise. I am liking you very much.

8. Forget to feed your cats in the morning because your RRHB is away recording and not there to do it.

9. Buy a pair of shoes (they were on sale) that seemed to fit in the store but certainly were not comfortable by the time you got them home. Thus, ensuring the truly attractive “tube-sox” method of stretching them out so they won’t mangle your feet at the book launch tonight.

10. Forget to bring an extra post-breakfast snack to work because it means you’re starving and unable to concentrate by 11 AM. A quick trip to Noah’s solved that problem.

11. Wear brown makeup. See #4.

12. Bring an umbrella and then promptly leave it at your desk before going outside.

13. Openly mock. You’re just asking for karma to come and bite you on the ass. But sometimes it’s hard when two ad guys get into the elevator with you, obviously pumped up on their ad brilliance, and swear like truckers. How do you keep quiet in your head? How do you not smirk?

14. Imagine, blissfully, having a sandwich for dinner because it’s awesome. See #8.

15. Squish your brain so hard to try and remember the name of the documentary a friend recommended at lunch a couple weeks ago so that you almost run into oncoming traffic at Yonge and Bloor. It would be an easy question to answer in an email, but somehow, you don’t want to seem stupid or like you weren’t paying attention. Hence, the brain squishing.

16. Not fully read the emails before forwarding them along.

17. Listen to this trailer. The song, the song will get in your head for hours, days, weeks. It’s not a bad thing, but when you’re already tired, songs seem to echo in your head in ways that make you quite uncomfortable.

18. Make inane lists on your blog.

19. Drink massive amounts of licorice tea. Just trust me on that one.

20. Put your head down on your desk and try to act like you’re not hungover from the three beers and amazing conversation.

21. One thing to do: openly mock your own self yesterday when you show up for work with full-on rocker girl hair. Evidence that it is so? The 45+ dude with his own layered and longish hair wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt under his jean jacket giving you a smile at 9 PM on Landsdowne Ave last night. Party on Garth. Party on Wayne. Two words: awe and some.

Oh, and Barney? And Robin? Wha?

What a full day:

1. I am halfway through Jhumpa Lahiri’s absolutely amazing Unaccustomed Earth. They are short stories that read as rich as a novel.

2. We grocery shopped, went for brunch, bought some second-hand spring clothes, visited the health food store and finally made it home, both exhausted.

3. Ah, Coronation Street. You’re like a salve on a wound. What ARE you thinking Ashley?

4. Gillian Welch, The Revelator, as above. Bless her soul indeed.

5. Editing is a long and painful process. But at least I’ve got pretty toes. The local nail salon has pedicures for $20.00. Seriously, it’s the best money I’ve spent in weeks. Pretty toes do wonders for your self-esteem. I don’t care how girlie that seems.

6. Taking your meds three days late is never a good idea. I can barely stomach sitting up. Silly ragdoll.

Is my blog boring?

Sleep seems to avoid me on the days that I take the needle. So that meant that I was up for a long time last night just lying in bed feeling so tired but not being able to actually fall asleep. Eventually I did, and even without any kind of pharmaceuticals, but I woke up at 6:30 again this morning and now I’m yawning as I’m typing.

The sunshine looks glorious from our bedroom window, it shoots inside and forms a arrow-like pattern on the wall, a reflection from the house next door, so bright and yellow that it made me want to get up and bask in it for a while. My RRHB is still sleeping. Later, we’re heading to a friend’s for brunch, and then we’re going to go buy lighting fixtures for our hallway.

Yesterday, when I came home, my RRHB and Zesty’s Marine had done so much work on the house I was actually taken aback. The whole main floor has taken shape now, and we have a brand new, incredibly level ceiling along with the beginnings of a new wall. Within the next few weeks there will be paint on the drywall, and all kinds of trim, as much as possible before the hardwood floors come at the end of May when I’m in Paris. And when I come home from Paris, I will come home to new floors. Thrilling.

I don’t know how to put into words the lightness of my mood these past few days. It’s not something I’m used to, as if with the snow disappearing, it’s melted a lot of my personal worry along with it. And it’s not to say that there aren’t very real and very upsetting things happening at the same time, but it’s kind of magical when you’re not frustrated with your work, with the work at home, with the state of your house, with loneliness, with disease, with side effects from the medicine (which I’m decreasing steadily), with the idea of nothing ever changing. There are subtle bits and pieces of every part of my life in good places these days, and for the very first time, maybe ever, I’m not worried about it all coming crashing down. Last week was hard. But that’s okay too, because when I needed it, the help was there. A girl couldn’t ask for more. Whether it was a note of support here, a held hand in the food court, a joke, a bit of compassion from those who know me best, it all combined to help me understand the world a little differently.

My mind is all over editing these days. It’s all I’m thinking about. Much to the detriment of, well, my life because:

1. I forgot my wallet at home this morning. Now I have to scrounge around in my purse for enough change to take the subway home. Walking all the way is not an option.

2. Said purse is a giant, girl-sized mess containing tea, loose tylenol tablets, a notebook, a hair elastic, another hairband thingy, bubblegum, tea, American money, a map of NYC, actual garbage, TTC transfers, and lip balm.

3. I keep bringing shoes to work and forgetting to take them home. Currently, the collection sits at 7 pairs.

4. We’ve booked our apartment in Paris but need to wire transfer money. How does that even work?

5. It’s been a week of meetings which means I don’t have my normal amount of headphone time. I miss it. No Radio 2, no NPR, no loud pop music.

6. There’s a pile of work magazines on my desk that’s almost a metre tall. I’m exaggerating, but still…

7. It’s beautiful and sunny outside but a bit chilly. Therefore, a crucial button fell off my raincoat. I have cold boobs.

8. Tulips have sprung in my garden at home. Gardening is so not my thing but I sure love the tips of the little green buggers coming out.

9. Consolation is an excellent novel.

10. When will it be warm?

This is a cute post from Paper Cuts, about the literary dealbreakers when it comes to personal relationships. I recommend a lot of books — it comes with the territory when you work in book publishing. Everyone is always asking what they should be reading, and for the most part, I like to pride myself on my book matching acumen. But I had never thought of the consequences in terms of dating.

Back in the day, I gave my RRHB a lot of books before we lived together, well before I knew what he actually liked to read, and I think the worst present I ever thrusted upon him was Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow. Thankfully, he married me anyway.

However, I am a complete Judgey-McJudgerson when it comes to what other people are reading. For example, I will think wickedly awful thoughts if you carry around quotations from Eat, Pray, Love in your handbag. I just will. And if you tell me that The Da Vinci Code is your favourite book, like, ever, I can’t help but relay the fact that I threw that book across the room after trying to get through it for my now-defunct book club. Literary snob? Yes.

It’s just like Rebecca Miller says: “…Mr. Lee reserved his special disdain for those who thought they were better than other people just because they read books.” People who read books are better than people who don’t. I won’t cookie-cutter it, but I save my own particular disdain for people who choose to read bad books. Harsh, but true.

For those of you who aren’t the least bit interested in hearing me whine about myself, please skip this post.

I don’t know what it was about today, about the last few days actually, that have turned out to just crush me in their path. Not one, not two, but three or four friends have openly made comments about how I’m being too hard on myself, how I need to stop thinking so negatively, and funny how it’s just sucked me right down into the mire. As if I need more criticism about how I criticize myself. Kind of ironic and funny, no?

And I’m nervous and scared about the next steps with the book, which involve ripping it apart and putting it back together again, and I feel like I can’t rip myself any more apart. And I’m nervous and scared about this stage of my life in general. What the disease has done to me, to how I look, to how I feel, to what can happen in my life, to make me give up all of the things I’ve wanted so bad, and some days like today I hurt so far down that I think it’s all this crap that’s actually rooting my feet in place, and not my nice shoes, not my sunny disposition, not my endless optimism. Sometimes it’s impossible to pull out enough confidence just to walk out of the house in the morning.

Argh. Now I’m going to be all blotchy when I meet Alicia to go see the play. Damn you stupid head.

1. Having the hiccups in a crowded elevator.

More news that’s list-worthy:

1a. NPR.org rocks, literally, I’ve been listening to SXSW concerts all day long.

2. We went out for dinner last night with a couple friends. The restaurant looked like an old dive bar from the outside but the food was fabulous. One friend: “If you tell anyone about this place in your blog I will kill you.” So, shhhhhh.

3. My RRHB bought Harp yesterday. It felt like the cottage. I miss the cottage.

4. The sunshine is not matching the temperature. And I switched coats this morning, which means I’m essentially going to be very cold as I walk home.

5. I started reading the book last night and wanted to rewrite it all from the first sentence. Crippling self-doubt makes a comeback.

6. Peanut butter and lettuce is an awesome combination. I don’t care what anyone says. And it makes me think of my mom.

7. Still hiccuping.

8. Rebecca Miller is an amazing writer. Take this sentence for example: “Delia Shunt was 34. She had fine, dirty-blond hair and a strong, heavy ass which looked excellent in blue jeans.” So it’s no surprise that I am absolutely devouring her new novel, The Private Lives of Pippa Lee, that we’re publishing in the summer.

9. A pen broke open on my hands and arms this morning, which means I look blue.

10. Bubblegum will always put me in a good mood. Even if it’s the cause of #1 and #7.

EDITED TO ADD: That I wish someone would describe my ass that way. Heh.