my tragic right hip

We drove up north on Thursday night so we could have a full day there on Friday. I was a bit hesitant to go up so late because the cottage hasn’t been opened up since last fall, which would mean piles of mouse crap and all kinds of other annoying things. And because I’m so tired by the time I go to bed (exhausted at 4 PM, hang in there until 10 PM, collapse in bed with a book, asleep by 10:15 PM kind of thing), I didn’t know if I’d have the energy to even sweep the floor by the time we go there.

My RRHB is on an opposite schedule to me. He’s just come back from tour, which means he’s used to being up all night, driving all ages and not going to bed until well into the morning. Hence the fact that he’d be more awake to drive the giant rock van at night than in the morning. So, we threw some food into some cotton bags, grabbed our PJs and off we went.

It was a gorgeous day yesterday. Perfect for cottage cleaning. It wasn’t too cold or damp for April and we got a lot done. Namely, we brought back a giant dresser of my grandmother’s for the house here because a) it’s too big for the room b) there are already 4 dressers up there and c) we’re trying to clear as much out of the cottage as possible.

We would have got a lot more done if the dump had been open (it was Good Friday), but we’ve already made a plan to go back up in a month, the weekend before the May long weekend, to finish organizing all of the furniture and actually get the cottage cleaned right out. How does so much stuff accumulate in such a small place? It never ceases to amaze me.

But I’m hella tired today. It was a long day of going through the mud room, where everyone (including myself) seems to have thrown everything they don’t want to deal with in terms of the cottage over the last three or four years. It’s clean and organized now, quite a feat!

When I first read Pamie’s description of the experience with the novel Haunted, and then heard all the stories about the crazy things Palahniuk does at his readings (the raw meat smells, the breath holding), I had pretty much made up my mind I would never, ever pick up this book.

I’m not a big fan of horror movies. They scare me too much. I have trouble separating the fact from the fiction. My RRHB took me to see The Exorcist when it was re-issued a few years ago. I have never seen another horror movie in the theatre. Oh sure, once in a while he’ll force me to watch Sean of the Dead or something of the like, and I’ll survive—but I won’t like it, that’s for sure.

Just let me give you an example, you know that totally silly movie with Richard Gere and Laura Linney The Mothman Prophecies? Okay, that film, that timid piece of Hollywood dreck, scared me so much that I slept with the light on.

So, the creepy, freaky world of Haunted wasn’t going to be easy. But all the other girls I was reading the book with (even Sam) managed to finish it, so off I went. One part of me wished I was still doing the Book A Day challenge because then I could read it quickly (with a deadline) so the scariness doesn’t keep freaking me out and make me check under the bed before I go to sleep.

Haunted is a series of interlinked stories, each introduced by a prose poem, with narrative sprinkled in that sets the novel at a writer’s retreat. Only this isn’t your average writer’s retreat—no one’s leaving. The short stories are written by the subject of the preceding poem, and everyone has nicknames (Earl of Slander, Miss America, etc), which somewhat reflect why they are there and who they are.

The tales are succinct and are more like morality plays in a sense. It’s a book of stories, but it’s also very much about storytelling and storytelling techniques. And there’s an historical aspect that I liked very much as well, how many of the characters kept mentioning the retreat in terms of the Villa Diodati, where Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein (the real Frankenstein, not the one I abridged, there was no Villa in my writing experience, sigh). I guess in a way he’s sort of writing back to the Romantics, to Poe, continuing the tradition before we were over-stimulated by slasher films, where you could be scared just by words on a page.

Palahniuk does this exceptionally well. There’s a literary bent to his writing that steers it away from Stephen King territory (but correct me if I’m wrong because I’ve never read a Stephen King novel), and the one quality I truly admire about this novel is how he never takes the stories where you might imagine they would go.

If I had to pick a favourite, it might have to be “Slumming” by Lady Baglady. In a way, it’s almost a parody of Jay McInerney’s Good Life, which I found kind of refreshing. The ooky-spooky stuff is still there but I liked the commentary about how poverty is the new rich and how ridiculously wealthy people were dipping themselves in urine scents and partying under bridges.

And the title is perfect. It works on so many levels. Damn book, I can’t get it out of my mind even though I’ve moved on to a murder mystery (something Murder She Wrote-ish) so I can finally get some sleep.

Last minute flight up to the cottage tonight where my RRHB swears I won’t have to do anything except sit in their rock and roll van and enjoy the view. Full update on Saturday…

So the prednisone crazies continue to be the worst side effect (even worse than my puffy face) that I’m facing these days. The littlest thing seems to upset me; things that normally wouldn’t bother me, like getting a rude email or someone being mean to you for no reason. You know, the stuff that you learn to sluff off like dry skin after using a loofah by the time you’re in your thirties. Well, that’s the stuff that’s making me bawl. And I can’t control when or why it happens. Which means that today I was sitting at my desk crying like a teenager about a mean email. I mean really? What happened to my backbone, did it disappear with my blood and never return?

Then I got home and relayed the entire story to my RRHB, bawling again. I’ve spent the better part of an hour all tolled today crying. For. No. Reason.

The prednisone weepies are way worse than the prednisone voice telling you to dive off a building. But at least I’m not hearing those at the same time or I’d really be in trouble.

Found this entry on another blog this morning. If anyone wants to see my RRHB’s new video, the one they made with the cell phones, take a look and let me know what you think!

And just for the record, my RRHB is the one on the right…

Shame on you Rona Ambrose, our ‘so-called’ Environment Minister. Isn’t it your job to make our responsibilities to the Kyoto Accord targets happen (link via Grist)? Isn’t that what our good tax dollars are paying you to do? Certainly not paying you to pass the buck and/or make pathetic excuses about needing more time. The whole point is that we have no time.

Here’s an idea. Use the big old brain you’ve got and think about some solutions. I mean, it can’t be that hard—Oprah had a whole show about it, and she’s only one woman. Get people to change their light bulbs. Get them to read the new Vanity Fair issue that’s on stands now. Subsidize Bullfrog so it’s more affordable for everyday people. Tax the sh*t out of SUVs. Just do something instead of sticking your finger up your ass and saying, “it can’t be done.”

Now there’s a message we want to be sending to our kids.

Last night I had such a hard time dealing with the idea of going back to work. Of course, this culminated in a lot of crying over other things, issues with my father, other family members, being grumpy with my RRHB for being away so long, and just the general tiredness of dealing with the disease and all of the various side effects of the prednisone.

The “prednisone crazies” are out in full force. My skin is breaking out and I’ve gained weight; as well, I’ve got some chest acne, pain in my left hip and a puffy face. On Saturday I went to get new glasses and was so frustrated with looking at my puffy face in the mirror I almost broke down in Lenscrafters. It’s funny, it’s not like black dog depression; I can realize that it’s the prednisone crazies, but that doesn’t stop the tears from falling freely.

The emotional roller coaster kept me awake for hours. This meant I was ironing the pants I wore today at 1:30AM. I was well prepared for today. I packed my purse and knapsack the night before, planned my breakfast (made a smoothie), organized all of my meds (the supplements I’m taking at lunch) and made a list of the things I was taking for lunch. As a result, when the alarm went off this morning, I didn’t feel panicked and frustrated, nor did I worry I was going to be late. In fact, it was a stressfree morning.

And that feeling carried on throughout the day. I had myself all in a panic about a meeting with HR this morning to talk about the sick leave. Not that could be helped, I mean, after all, the last time I went back to work after a sick leave I got fired by the Boss From Hell. But in the end, everyone was happy to see me. Everyone commented on how well I looked, how much they liked my snappy new haircut.

Most importantly, I made it through the whole day and I’m only semi-exhausted. I’m actually quite proud of myself.

Now, to the list…I didn’t do too badly. Here’s a wrap up:

1. Complete my own version of John Allemang’s Book A Day challenge. Follow with a Movie A Day challenge as well (the challenge here will be limiting myself to just one movie a day). I’m spending way, way too much time in front of the television.

I read 15 books since posting my list on March 22nd. Not quite one per day, but I didn’t do too badly. If you count it as a work week challenge, I did all right. Not bad, if I do say so myself.

2. Finish unpacking our boxes and transfer the unused contents to plastic storage bins that can go in the basement. This is so my RRHB (when he gets back from tour) can completely demolish the first floor. This is a selfish goal to some extent because I’m so sick of only living on one floor of the house that anything I can do to help the renovation along, I’m going to do.

This was too much for me. The boxes are too full and too heavy and I need my RRHB’s help. I did move some of the plastic boxes to the basement, so that’s a start. I’d count this one one third done.

3. Go through all my old writing and transfer as much as I can to the new computer. I bought a cute little clipboard from the Pottery Barn, just to hold up my pages!

I’ve started this too, it’s an ongoing process, one that’ll probably take me a few months to complete. I did, however, put all of my writing in one plastic bin, but I’ve got so much that I’ll need another one. I need to make a trip to Staples this week to buy some more storage containers. So, still working on this one too.

4. Create a menu plan for the next three weeks. Then go grocery shopping.

Yeah, didn’t do this at all—but I did do a lot of grocery shopping around the advice of the naturopath, which was kind of the point.

7. Research yoga classes for the diseased. Do such things exist?
8. Clean the downstairs hallway. Part of #2.

Done and done!

9. Get our taxes organized. Take everything to an accountant.

I have the name of a good accountant, but I haven’t done any organizing yet. Another project for this week. Will keep you posted.

11. Clean out the car (see #10).

Didn’t have the energy for this either. Fingers crossed it gets done this weekend.

13. Write each day (and not just on the blog).

I did this! Done and done!

15. Write all of my non-wedding thank you notes.

Still on the list.

16. See the eye doctor (appointment made), family doctor (appointment made), naturopath (appointment made) and osteopath (appointment not made yet…). This is all in the goal of spending the next 2.5 weeks getting as well as I humanly can get in the time I’ve got to myself.

Done and done!

All in all, not too shabby, I think, not too shabby—good effort!

Blankets, Craig Thompson’s , illustrated novel completes my Book A Day challenge (for now). I’m going to give it a couple of days (with working) to see if I can maintain the same pace, but I doubt it.

I choose an easy one, a graphic novel, but having never read one before, I didn’t quite know what to expect. It’s a sweet tale of the author growing up, falling in love and questioning his Christian faith, told in a balance of words and pictures. I’m consistently amazed at the ability of graphic novel authors to a) achieve a tone with such a small amount of words and b) tell such wonderful stories in their pictures.

As I was awake with nerves and whatnot last night until after 2 AM, it was an easy book to read in order to try and calm down, and that so much of it was inspired by different parts of scripture (in how he’s learning about his faith, testing his faith, finally coming to terms with how he approaches his faith), meant it sort of calmed me down too.

The love story makes up most of the middle section of the book and it’s easy to see how the author fell in love with his heroine. She’s quite remarkable and led one hell of a hard life. This book makes me want to read more graphic novels, but I wouldn’t even know where to start.

David Mitchell’s Black Swan Green is the kind of book you just devour. It’s a year in the life of Jason Taylor, a thirteen-year-old boy who lives in Black Swan Green (a small village in Worcestershire), who stammers, has a wicked imagination, writes poetry and suffers at the hand of adolescence. Told in a sweeping stream of consciousness narrative, the book totally brings you into the mind of a boy that age, and it’s pitch perfect.

To an extent, the book reminded me a bit of The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, but maybe only because both Mitchell and Haddon use similar narrative styles. Ripe with details about what it’s like to be a kid, the book oozes adolescence, which brought me right back to grade eight and left me standing around George’s (can’t remember his last name) living room listening to Duran Duran and flirting over X-Men comics.

It’s an impressive novel. Truly. Which, of course, means that now I’m going to have to read Cloud Atlas.