This blog still gets updated

Even though I have been updating my short story blog more frequently. Although not as much of late.  I get these ideas and do the thing and then run out of steam if it doesn’t seem to be working out – that kind of thing.

Often, I said to my 50 minute hour this week, it feels like my head is encased in molasses.

Good description, she said.  I was pleased that I had impressed her.

I often don’t find much else pleasing in this 50 minutes – there is a lot of staring or so it seems to me.

It is classic psychoanalysis, something I don’t think I’ve ever really had in my zillion years of various therapists. Think Freud in an updated, young woman with two small kids and an oncologist husband version.  That’s her.  I trust her and I don’t as per usual.

The rains have come to this fair city and they don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.  Monsoon-esque. Power outages, etc.

My work life consists of inconsistency and chronic insecurity.  The downtown school gives me about 12 or 13 hours a week, spread out over five days.  Sometimes 1.5 hours a day which is crazy but not illegal.  Go figure.  There is chronic humiliation in this that would only make sense to another ESL instructor.  I FBed last week about bailing once and for all.

“But a shitty bird in the hand is still worth more in none in the bush,” an FB friend messaged me.

Yes, there is that, I said.

I combine the downtown school with one evening a week at Langara – this goes for another five weeks only.  And some tutoring of Chinese teenagers.  I work six days a week really but generally only a few hours a day.

“So whatcha gonna do?” people ask me when they hear me complaining.

Not much really.  I will have to keep up this keeping up for as long as I can.  Sucks.  Draining.

I’m at a friend’s house now writing – M., 27, is new to my writing group.  I could be his mother had I procreated at 23, entirely possible.  M. is gay lest you think there is some May-December stuff going around.  He is tortured by some of the same things I am – intense self doubt, dislike, self-consciousness, impatience.

I thank the gods for M. because as we know as we know, my social life dribbles along.  Great friends, great friends, all of whom I seem to have to chase around the block to see.  No slight on them (really!) but I’m frustrated.  There is only so much block chasing you can do.

I sometimes change my perspective on that but mired in head molasses, I flip back to being all kinds of frustrated.


So M. has come along at a good time for me.

I let most of my frustrations out on FB.  This in itself is frustrating – but FB is good for that kind of a thing.

“Are you okay?” FB queried another new friend of mine, R.

“Frustrated,” I said.  I was touched by his concern.

People mock and deride Facebook but hell, it works for me on many levels.

Back to work stuff.  Difficult – I basically work three jobs and don’t make enough to live on.  No idea how that works.

I walked in the pouring monsoon to M’s this afternoon – wearing jeans is often the mistake I make in these kinds of rain situations.  But I needed a bit of exercise – I don’t ride my bicycle in this weather.  My body needs the movement –  I  have to get some of my nervous energy out somewhere at some time somehow.  I  am now wearing a pair of M’s sweatpants and socks and hoping my jeans dry a bit for later when I venture out again.  It is warm out kind of – warm and dark.  I am sitting in a lovely recliner chair.  M. is listening to music and writing and writing.  It is actually very very warm in here.  Good though.  Good good.  A lovely apartment in the West End where he is staying for awhile until he gets his own place again.  Last time he came to mine to write.

I am struck by how much my brain/heart want to survive despite my regular battering of them both.  That sounds dramatic I am sure but our brains do that, that drama.  I don’t mean I physically batter my heart although I am sure the constant adrenaline can’t be that good for it. Hence physical exercise.  I am verklempt that cycling season is wrapping up for awhile anyway – the leaves on the ground combined with the constant rain do not make cycling a possibility for me.

Isolation can make things seem surreal sometimes. Don’t know if you’ve ever experienced that.

I watched the documentary on Amanda Knox the other evening.  I hadn’t thought I would but, alas, bored.  What always strikes me is the ultimate and absolute lack of concern for the victim of the crime.  Knox comes off not great but having a selfish personality doesn’t make someone a killer of course.  Then last night I went all spontaneous like to a documentary, part of VIFF, called, “Tower.”  Devastating and very very well done.

I keep hoping to be dramatically unmired – maybe more realistic to hope for a small unmiring.

Who knows.

The rains in Vancouver are much like the rains in London, England although in London you also have a whole lot more to keep you from going batty.  I could spend a month in Foyle’s books and then another going to plays.  Museums, etc.  Living there as I know from those who do is of course a whole other ball game.  It ain’t easy living in London. The living there is not easy.  I like to slide in as a tourist.

I am suddenly craving chili.