Car is broken again. Calling BCAA tomorrow and if I can get a jump taking her to Kal-Tire for new tires. If cannot get jump, means battery is fucked and I kill everyone in Nanaimo.
I mean, find a way to get that shit fixed.
I don't even fucking know anymore.
On the plus side -- did another publishing job, in addition to my current one. Much easier project; only took me 5 hours for layout AND cover. Now let's see how that translates to actual print. *crosses fingers*
So tired.
8.23.2011
Stupid Mercury Retrograde
Today has been really fucking weird. I'd like to say shitty, but good things happened so it sort of balanced out. But my luck has positively sucked today.
Last night I had a good dream. The first good dream I've had in years. I was pleasantly traipsing through this dream, in no hurry to see how it ended. Perhaps I should have hurried, because now I have no idea how it ended and never will: my dad called me in the middle of it and woke me up.
I'm not a morning person, and I'm not a phone person. Calling me in the morning is sure to put me in a bad mood because not only have you waked me from sleep I desperately need, but you are trying to talk to me before I've had my anti-depressant. The little purple pill that turns me into a functioning human being. Trying to stay polite under those circumstances is next to impossible for me.
Somehow I managed it. I then went about the process of actually waking up before suggesting to my friend who is staying with me for a few days that I call the BCAA guy to come give my car a jump so we could go out in search of breakfast.
(I came home on Sunday to find that my car was dead because I'd left the glove compartment open for two weeks. Fuuuu. Also, there's no food in my house, and I had no will to cook this morning.)
So the BCAA guy comes about half an hour later, gives me a jump. We sit in the running car for about 20 minutes before deciding to try and drive it. It goes! Yay! We get to the street and I realize the car is running funny. I turn around and go back to the driveway. Bryce jumps out of the car. Flat tire.
I've turned off the car, of course, because I'm on auto-pilot, and it won't start again. I call BCAA. "Hi, I called a little while ago because my car needed a jump. It now needs another jump and a new tire."
Wait another 20 minutes for the new BCAA guy.
Plus side? He found my spare, which was in the side of my trunk and not the bottom. Never would have found it myself. Thought I didn't have one.
So, car fixed and ready to go, we go off to do errands. By this point it's 12:45 and I'm starving, so I end up spending more than I should have on food. Went and got a few more things, namely costuming supplies for P&F and props and costume pieces for Criminal Genius. Also late birthday present for Mom. Spent about 100 dollars but I got a LOT of stuff, because I shop smart. Make one last stop at 7-11 for drinks. Two 2L bottles of pop and a double gulp cup of a perfectly mixed Cherry Coke.
Pay, get out to the car, and manage to spill my Cherry Coke all over the car.
I cannot fucking win today.
(The 7-11 lady was very nice and let me get a free refill, however.)
Not leaving the house again till tomorrow. You can't make me.
Last night I had a good dream. The first good dream I've had in years. I was pleasantly traipsing through this dream, in no hurry to see how it ended. Perhaps I should have hurried, because now I have no idea how it ended and never will: my dad called me in the middle of it and woke me up.
I'm not a morning person, and I'm not a phone person. Calling me in the morning is sure to put me in a bad mood because not only have you waked me from sleep I desperately need, but you are trying to talk to me before I've had my anti-depressant. The little purple pill that turns me into a functioning human being. Trying to stay polite under those circumstances is next to impossible for me.
Somehow I managed it. I then went about the process of actually waking up before suggesting to my friend who is staying with me for a few days that I call the BCAA guy to come give my car a jump so we could go out in search of breakfast.
(I came home on Sunday to find that my car was dead because I'd left the glove compartment open for two weeks. Fuuuu. Also, there's no food in my house, and I had no will to cook this morning.)
So the BCAA guy comes about half an hour later, gives me a jump. We sit in the running car for about 20 minutes before deciding to try and drive it. It goes! Yay! We get to the street and I realize the car is running funny. I turn around and go back to the driveway. Bryce jumps out of the car. Flat tire.
I've turned off the car, of course, because I'm on auto-pilot, and it won't start again. I call BCAA. "Hi, I called a little while ago because my car needed a jump. It now needs another jump and a new tire."
Wait another 20 minutes for the new BCAA guy.
Plus side? He found my spare, which was in the side of my trunk and not the bottom. Never would have found it myself. Thought I didn't have one.
So, car fixed and ready to go, we go off to do errands. By this point it's 12:45 and I'm starving, so I end up spending more than I should have on food. Went and got a few more things, namely costuming supplies for P&F and props and costume pieces for Criminal Genius. Also late birthday present for Mom. Spent about 100 dollars but I got a LOT of stuff, because I shop smart. Make one last stop at 7-11 for drinks. Two 2L bottles of pop and a double gulp cup of a perfectly mixed Cherry Coke.
Pay, get out to the car, and manage to spill my Cherry Coke all over the car.
I cannot fucking win today.
(The 7-11 lady was very nice and let me get a free refill, however.)
Not leaving the house again till tomorrow. You can't make me.
8.21.2011
Poptarts and mosquitoes (a day camping)
We went camping Friday night. Friday night only, because my MIL didn't want to spend two nights away from any form of bathing whatsoever (no lake, stream, river, or showers), and frankly neither did we.
Nate and I slept in the back of the minivan, which fixed my back, surprisingly. (And wrecked his. We can't win.) Also -- sex in the back of a car, crossed off bucket list.
Anyway. I played around more with Scriv while camping (if I set my monitor to be dimmer I can get about 10 hours of battery out of my MacBook Pro, which was more than enough time), and yeah, it's official, I fucking love this program. I also reread the last part of my book, and I still think it's really good. A good sign, that I enjoy it when not in the heat of writing it the first time. So actual editing is coming up soon (especially as I finally got a real divination system figured out for that one chapter, instead of the crap placeholder I had before).
Today I go home. I'm back on Saturday, so the parting is not that bittersweet. Might do our backs some good to sleep alone for a few days, honestly. We'll have to figure out what to do about this before moving in together.
Things to do:
Nate and I slept in the back of the minivan, which fixed my back, surprisingly. (And wrecked his. We can't win.) Also -- sex in the back of a car, crossed off bucket list.
Anyway. I played around more with Scriv while camping (if I set my monitor to be dimmer I can get about 10 hours of battery out of my MacBook Pro, which was more than enough time), and yeah, it's official, I fucking love this program. I also reread the last part of my book, and I still think it's really good. A good sign, that I enjoy it when not in the heat of writing it the first time. So actual editing is coming up soon (especially as I finally got a real divination system figured out for that one chapter, instead of the crap placeholder I had before).
Today I go home. I'm back on Saturday, so the parting is not that bittersweet. Might do our backs some good to sleep alone for a few days, honestly. We'll have to figure out what to do about this before moving in together.
Things to do:
- finish memorizing lines.
- practice slides for Langara audition; find monologue.
- clean house.
- new book publishing project.
- revise part 1 of Bellica.
8.19.2011
Let Go
I'm beginning to feel I'm invisible.
I send messages on FB and no one responds. Usually these are fairly important messages, too, needing a response rather soon. It's apparent by the messages that they're important. And weeks pass and nada.
I'm not really a person to send multiple follow-up messages, because I think it's rude and pushy. I'm not rude and pushy. I just want a fracking answer before the godsdamned apocalypse.
I want to bitch about it in more detail, but that won't do much more than just spread around negativity. So I'm just going to take a deep breath, play some tunes, and start fooling around with Scrivener. (I've just downloaded it and am going to try it with the rewriting of my novel -- if I like it enough, I'll purchase it. So far it's doing really well in my estimation.)
Our modern social media has made us completely unable to deal with the real world. I say that being a person who prefers social media to face to face interaction in most cases.
I send messages on FB and no one responds. Usually these are fairly important messages, too, needing a response rather soon. It's apparent by the messages that they're important. And weeks pass and nada.
I'm not really a person to send multiple follow-up messages, because I think it's rude and pushy. I'm not rude and pushy. I just want a fracking answer before the godsdamned apocalypse.
I want to bitch about it in more detail, but that won't do much more than just spread around negativity. So I'm just going to take a deep breath, play some tunes, and start fooling around with Scrivener. (I've just downloaded it and am going to try it with the rewriting of my novel -- if I like it enough, I'll purchase it. So far it's doing really well in my estimation.)
Our modern social media has made us completely unable to deal with the real world. I say that being a person who prefers social media to face to face interaction in most cases.
Heaven
My MIL has a recliner in her living room, right next to my FIL's recliner. She also has a lapdesk for her laptop.
She's at work, and I have free reign of the house (and her permission to sit in her chair, etc). So I am set up nicely in her chair, laptop on soft desk, feet up on other recliner.
My back is so happy with this arrangement it's threatening to quit if I decide to move. This could be a problem if I need to pee, but for now I am content.
She's at work, and I have free reign of the house (and her permission to sit in her chair, etc). So I am set up nicely in her chair, laptop on soft desk, feet up on other recliner.
My back is so happy with this arrangement it's threatening to quit if I decide to move. This could be a problem if I need to pee, but for now I am content.
Acrylic nails
Pretty, but a lot of trouble. Currently in the process of filing them down so I can type again (and write with a pen, jesus). Still an awesome birthday gift from my future MIL.
I've sort of gone back to my old nickname -- Jagged -- as you can no doubt tell from the blog. I want Katje van Loon to be my professional persona, and this is not a professional blog. At all. So Jagged is who I am in private -- as private as a public online journal can be.
And now it's time to watch Dead Like Me with the boyfriend. Almost done the series.
I've sort of gone back to my old nickname -- Jagged -- as you can no doubt tell from the blog. I want Katje van Loon to be my professional persona, and this is not a professional blog. At all. So Jagged is who I am in private -- as private as a public online journal can be.
And now it's time to watch Dead Like Me with the boyfriend. Almost done the series.
8.18.2011
Braincakes. Good for what ails you.
My brain has been fried in a giant frying pan in the sky. No lie; I'm a complete vegetable because my grey matter has been used to make flapjacks for the gods.
- My job is killing me. I can't wait for it to be done. Contract work yay.
- I'm looking at having to move back to Powell River this November-December to save money before moving to Vancouver (which is very very expensive).
- I love the look of my acrylic nails but I can't fucking type with them.
- Back pain means I can't sleep.
- Criminal Genius goes off in September and we've rehearsed once. Nrgle.
- On the the plus side, I've spent 2 weeks with Nate and it's been really nice.
- I can't write. I can't think. I have all these ideas but when I sit down to do something about them...poof. Into thin air. Turned into syrup for brain flapjack.
- I would like a vacation.
- It's really weird that I'm not returning to school this fall. I may get into Langara Film Acting program, which means that I'll be going back to school in January. But if not... I'm officially an adult or something. Ahh.
6.30.2011
Squee! (ramblings about love)
My boyfriend will be here in...six and a half hours! (Or eight and a half if he misses the ferry. Which is likely. Whatever. Still fewer hours than 10.)
I have no car to pick him up, but that's ok, I'll figure something out. I'm just super excited to see him. We haven't seen each other in 37 days. Neither of us is very rich, and I was in school until mid-June, so that didn't give me a lot of spare time.
Let me tell you something -- long distance relationships suck big lizard eggs. When it is quite literally painful to be apart from him for so long, I tend to lapse into old behaviours to build up a wall and protect myself. And then I turn into a shitty girlfriend. He's like a drug; I need a dose every so often or I go into withdrawal...which is not pretty.
Dystopian novel references aside. There's truth to what Huxley says there. Love -- attraction, lust, the physical act(s) of intimacy -- is a physiological reaction. (This doesn't invalidate it, by the way. Just to clear up that common misconception, that anything biological is somehow lesser because we can't help it.) I don't know the science-y details behind it and I don't really give enough of a fuck to look it up, but I do know that pheromones -- scent -- play a big part in the process.
So I steal my boyfriend's clothing, because it has his scent, and I curl up with it to feel better once he's gone. (He does the same with my stuff, though he's only admitted to it once.) This isn't some silly thing that people write about in romantic comedies; it has basis in reality. And I'm pretty sure a lot of us do it, even if we don't want to admit it because we don't want the stain of being a romantic to sully our image.
It used to be a secret that I'm a big, hopeless romantic. (Well. Sort of a secret. It was a secret to those who thought they knew me but didn't really care enough to really get to know me. My true friends have known this for a while.)
I was pretty ashamed of being a romantic. Mainly because every romantic thing had blown up in my face, and I was beginning to believe that I'd be alone for forever. Which was ok, I guess, as I'd never really planned to get married at all, and had sort of imagined my parental life as a single mother (via sperm bank or friendly donation). I just wanted one relationship to be nice. Just one relationship with a guy* who wasn't a total douchebag, who didn't send me on a tailspin into depression and suicidal thoughts again.
Being with Fezzik for almost 9 months now, I'm no longer ashamed of being a romantic. Though I admit that we are both sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop because this is the first time something this good has happened for either of us, I'm happy in love and happy to stay here. We fight, of course, but it's few and far between (happening more frequently the longer we've been apart, of course).
Neither of us is perfect, but I know he's perfect for me. And...I think I'm perfect for him. Probably. He'd never admit it, but whatever. He'd never admit a lot of times and it doesn't matter because he doesn't need to. Actions speak far louder than words.
And I know, absotively, that I wish to marry him. I don't wish to get married; I wish to marry Fezzik (golly it sounds weird to say that with his pseudonym). World of difference between those two things.
I think that Dante Shepherd is correct in his definition of love: "Love is best defined by one simple number: the number of times that you're willing to simply just roll your eyes at your significant other's shenanigans."
That's definitely been the guiding principle behind our relationship (you know, aside from trust and honesty and clear communication and all that crap). It works.
(Also, yes, I realize that I do a lot of rambling about how in love I am with my boyfriend. It's important for me to blog about the good things in my life, and he happens to be one of them.)
*For argument's sake I'm straight; I don't identify as straight, but I've also never really been with a woman. I don't really know what I am anymore. Maybe heteroflexible. Like, really flexible.
I have no car to pick him up, but that's ok, I'll figure something out. I'm just super excited to see him. We haven't seen each other in 37 days. Neither of us is very rich, and I was in school until mid-June, so that didn't give me a lot of spare time.
Let me tell you something -- long distance relationships suck big lizard eggs. When it is quite literally painful to be apart from him for so long, I tend to lapse into old behaviours to build up a wall and protect myself. And then I turn into a shitty girlfriend. He's like a drug; I need a dose every so often or I go into withdrawal...which is not pretty.
Hug me till you drug me,
put me in a coma.
Hug me till you drug me,
love's as good as soma.
Dystopian novel references aside. There's truth to what Huxley says there. Love -- attraction, lust, the physical act(s) of intimacy -- is a physiological reaction. (This doesn't invalidate it, by the way. Just to clear up that common misconception, that anything biological is somehow lesser because we can't help it.) I don't know the science-y details behind it and I don't really give enough of a fuck to look it up, but I do know that pheromones -- scent -- play a big part in the process.
So I steal my boyfriend's clothing, because it has his scent, and I curl up with it to feel better once he's gone. (He does the same with my stuff, though he's only admitted to it once.) This isn't some silly thing that people write about in romantic comedies; it has basis in reality. And I'm pretty sure a lot of us do it, even if we don't want to admit it because we don't want the stain of being a romantic to sully our image.
It used to be a secret that I'm a big, hopeless romantic. (Well. Sort of a secret. It was a secret to those who thought they knew me but didn't really care enough to really get to know me. My true friends have known this for a while.)
I was pretty ashamed of being a romantic. Mainly because every romantic thing had blown up in my face, and I was beginning to believe that I'd be alone for forever. Which was ok, I guess, as I'd never really planned to get married at all, and had sort of imagined my parental life as a single mother (via sperm bank or friendly donation). I just wanted one relationship to be nice. Just one relationship with a guy* who wasn't a total douchebag, who didn't send me on a tailspin into depression and suicidal thoughts again.
Being with Fezzik for almost 9 months now, I'm no longer ashamed of being a romantic. Though I admit that we are both sort of waiting for the other shoe to drop because this is the first time something this good has happened for either of us, I'm happy in love and happy to stay here. We fight, of course, but it's few and far between (happening more frequently the longer we've been apart, of course).
Neither of us is perfect, but I know he's perfect for me. And...I think I'm perfect for him. Probably. He'd never admit it, but whatever. He'd never admit a lot of times and it doesn't matter because he doesn't need to. Actions speak far louder than words.
And I know, absotively, that I wish to marry him. I don't wish to get married; I wish to marry Fezzik (golly it sounds weird to say that with his pseudonym). World of difference between those two things.
I think that Dante Shepherd is correct in his definition of love: "Love is best defined by one simple number: the number of times that you're willing to simply just roll your eyes at your significant other's shenanigans."
That's definitely been the guiding principle behind our relationship (you know, aside from trust and honesty and clear communication and all that crap). It works.
(Also, yes, I realize that I do a lot of rambling about how in love I am with my boyfriend. It's important for me to blog about the good things in my life, and he happens to be one of them.)
*For argument's sake I'm straight; I don't identify as straight, but I've also never really been with a woman. I don't really know what I am anymore. Maybe heteroflexible. Like, really flexible.
6.29.2011
Dinner for a Fat Girl (or, Taking Control and Beating My Eating Disorder into Submission)
I just had a chicken Caesar salad for dinner. No croutons. Romaine lettuce. Parmesan cheese.
I did not eat this salad because I have bought into the media's lie that I must keep myself thin to please the menfolk. I did not eat this salad because I was feeling guilty about my eating habits, because I felt I needed to be "a good girl". I did not eat this salad to be physically healthy. I did not eat this salad to prove to others that I'm not like "all the other fat people," that I have self-control.
I ate that salad because I like Caesar salad, and I like chicken, and I don't like croutons.
For dessert, I am having a fudge brownie. I am not eating this fudge brownie because I had an upsetting conversation with someone and need to eat my feelings. I am not having this fudge brownie because I lack self-control. I'm not having this fudge brownie because I'm "a bad girl". I am not "rewarding" myself for being "good" by having a salad for dinner.
I'm eating this brownie because I like brownies, and it tastes good, and I wanted it.
And later I may have some ice cream. Or more veggies. Who knows. All I do know is that whatever I choose to eat, I am making the right choice for myself.
I did not eat this salad because I have bought into the media's lie that I must keep myself thin to please the menfolk. I did not eat this salad because I was feeling guilty about my eating habits, because I felt I needed to be "a good girl". I did not eat this salad to be physically healthy. I did not eat this salad to prove to others that I'm not like "all the other fat people," that I have self-control.
I ate that salad because I like Caesar salad, and I like chicken, and I don't like croutons.
For dessert, I am having a fudge brownie. I am not eating this fudge brownie because I had an upsetting conversation with someone and need to eat my feelings. I am not having this fudge brownie because I lack self-control. I'm not having this fudge brownie because I'm "a bad girl". I am not "rewarding" myself for being "good" by having a salad for dinner.
I'm eating this brownie because I like brownies, and it tastes good, and I wanted it.
And later I may have some ice cream. Or more veggies. Who knows. All I do know is that whatever I choose to eat, I am making the right choice for myself.
5.18.2011
Things I'm grateful for, 2011: the teachings of the Elders
Today we did a plant walk in class. We learned about the healing properties of stinging nettle (urtica diocia), yarrow (achillea millefolium), and horsetail (no idea), as according to Coast Salish teachings.
A tea made with these three plants can cure cancer. Aunty D. saw it happen.
I'm very grateful to be able to be part of these classes and learn these teachings. They are sacred, and I feel lucky to take part of them.
A tea made with these three plants can cure cancer. Aunty D. saw it happen.
I'm very grateful to be able to be part of these classes and learn these teachings. They are sacred, and I feel lucky to take part of them.
1.12.2011
I want a Jack and Coke.
It's not even that I'm having a crap day - I'm not. I'm feeling pretty good. I'm just deep in a well of weakness and I am craving a Jack and Coke so hard.
Beyond that -- I am craving being a part of the culture and experiences that go with it.
I miss the days of my college drinking. I'm entering this new phase in my life where I'm actually being an adult (and no, being an adult doesn't mean you have wine with your dinner or drink otherwise; drinking alcohol is an unnecessary activity that happens to only be allowed to legal adults) and choosing more responsibly, and fuck if I don't want to give it all up.
I have been dry and sober for 7 months. I am coming to terms with the emotional roots of my alcoholism, slowly but surely. I am no where ready to go off the medication that prevents me from drinking. I am fully cognizant of this fact.
Everyday I face that I cannot drink because I live in a world where the drinking subculture has become the mainstream culture. Sometimes I worry about my loved ones, because I look at them and can clearly see behaviours that I was exhibiting when I wasn't sober. But I don't say anything, because I know what kind of reaction I'll get. It's the same reaction they would have received had they said anything to me.
Right now I can feel the burn of the Jack as it hits my throat, I can taste that horrible-and-wonderful-at-the-same-time flavour of the Jack and Coke mixing, I can feel the alcohol relax me as the caffeine in the pop pumps me up.
I can feel my feet on the dance floor and feel myself getting lost in the rhythm.
I can feel the effects of drink after drink until I'm too drunk to stand.
I can feel waking up and vowing never to do it again...only to start drinking as soon as the hangover wears off.
And I can feel this all being blindly accepted and encouraged by the culture around me.
I am encouraged now by certain people -- close friends who understand. Some of them recovering as well. Some of them just sober by personal choice, no addiction involved. Some not sober, but encouraging all the same -- and sober around me. But I fear hanging out with anyone else because if I get into a situation where I am offered alcohol by people who don't know the situation I'm in, or if I am feeling pressured....
I can't promise myself constant strength. I am a human. I am weak.
What if I break?
Beyond that -- I am craving being a part of the culture and experiences that go with it.
I miss the days of my college drinking. I'm entering this new phase in my life where I'm actually being an adult (and no, being an adult doesn't mean you have wine with your dinner or drink otherwise; drinking alcohol is an unnecessary activity that happens to only be allowed to legal adults) and choosing more responsibly, and fuck if I don't want to give it all up.
I have been dry and sober for 7 months. I am coming to terms with the emotional roots of my alcoholism, slowly but surely. I am no where ready to go off the medication that prevents me from drinking. I am fully cognizant of this fact.
Everyday I face that I cannot drink because I live in a world where the drinking subculture has become the mainstream culture. Sometimes I worry about my loved ones, because I look at them and can clearly see behaviours that I was exhibiting when I wasn't sober. But I don't say anything, because I know what kind of reaction I'll get. It's the same reaction they would have received had they said anything to me.
Right now I can feel the burn of the Jack as it hits my throat, I can taste that horrible-and-wonderful-at-the-same-time flavour of the Jack and Coke mixing, I can feel the alcohol relax me as the caffeine in the pop pumps me up.
I can feel my feet on the dance floor and feel myself getting lost in the rhythm.
I can feel the effects of drink after drink until I'm too drunk to stand.
I can feel waking up and vowing never to do it again...only to start drinking as soon as the hangover wears off.
And I can feel this all being blindly accepted and encouraged by the culture around me.
I am encouraged now by certain people -- close friends who understand. Some of them recovering as well. Some of them just sober by personal choice, no addiction involved. Some not sober, but encouraging all the same -- and sober around me. But I fear hanging out with anyone else because if I get into a situation where I am offered alcohol by people who don't know the situation I'm in, or if I am feeling pressured....
I can't promise myself constant strength. I am a human. I am weak.
What if I break?
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