Monday, May 23, 2005

Blather! Right this moment, I'm craving a ham sandwich, which is patently unusual. I don't like ham...I rant about ham...I've always been anti-ham. At many points, ham-thoughts have even made me nauseous! I even spent some time the other day creating sadness in the heart of a ham-loving pal because I don't like ham, whereas he truly believes all pig products are beneficial and blessed. But now -- since I've gone on about it so much -- now I want one. Is this weird? Does this happen to anyone else? Is the strength of (even negative) suggestion that powerful? Why do the names of some fruits end in "fruit"? That makes me feel like my name should be "Megperson". Fresh herb gardens are the coolest thing. There is nothing more fragrant on an early summer night than pots of thyme and basil and mint, their leaves dotted with dew, curling in the moonlight. I was considering, however, being odd and starting a dried herb garden...just jars of herbs, placed in soil, perfectly ready for me if I wanted to add them to a dish. I can just see my friends grins turning to confusion as I go out to the deck to grab 'a bit of rosemary', and come back with a bottle. When I was younger, I used to be obsessed with Slurpees. I wanted one all the time. Now, for my American readers, I have to caution you...what you know as a Slurpee does not seem to be the same thing I know as a Slurpee. There's added carbonation or some such oddity in your concoctions down there, which strikes me as weird, since there's no reason for a different recipe south of the border. All I know is, us Canadian kids don't like American Slurpees. We like the ones we have. Anyhow...back to obsession. I used to crave drinks as cold as I could possibly get them, and Slurpees seemed like the chill ideal. I only liked the Coke flavoured ones, and I could consume several in a day, left to my own devices. Then one day, I just didn't really want them anymore, and I went two years without having one. Have you ever done that with anything? Loved something to bits, then just....gave it up? I mean, every damn time I passed a 7-11, I had to go in. It was a scary scene. Then...nothing. Maybe that's what happens to people who divorce one another suddenly, without acrimony, as seems to occur in Hollywood all the time, and recently, among my friends. You just stop craving the other person, shrug, and send off the papers? I don't want a Slurpee marriage. Just saying. Current loves: sourdough bread; lemonade made with actual lemons; spaghetti aglio e olio; peony season on the rise (still, no one has ever given me a bunch of peonies. I want to be given peonies); earrings that jangle in the wind; goldfish; twilight, celadon pottery; beeswax votives; future-dreaming; strange nicknames for people; sending people bizarre links at work; ginger tea; open windows; and last, but not least...bright green spring grass. Yep. 2:40:44 PM    build me up, buttercup... [] Thankfulness. Alas...I tried to do today what I'd had to stop doing a little while ago, but it didn't work out. I tried to write somewhere other than my apartment. My apt. is a great place to write, so it's not frustration that caused me to resume my old habits. After all, drinks are always nearby, my room is quiet, I sit at my great grandmother's writing desk...it's a good vibe, a good spot. But sometimes quiet is TOO quiet, and I need a little chaos to ignore. When I was first freelancing, I used to write from the coffee shop every day; I'd sip a good cup, watch the people around me, and pen a few choice lines (and more than a few weak ones). Economics soon put a stop to that, although I'd still steal away every now and then to sip some black coffee (lattes being far too opulent for the 'starving artist') in the company of familiar faces and familiar buzz. It had been a while since even that was kosher, though, so I was missing the atmosphere. But I've been working full time, in addition to my freelance projects, for two weeks now, and since I get paid in a week and a half, I decided to devote a few of my last cents to my old haunt. I packed up my semi-broken laptop, and headed to the nearby java shop that serves a good bean. I thought I'd take advantage of the free wireless, and enjoy the chatter and conversation around me while I wrote for myself, and for work. My laptop had other ideas. Apparently, if there is an encrypted wireless signal anywhere nearby, it freaks out and begins restarting itself endlessly. It doesn't matter if there is a perfectly nice free one for it to latch onto, it just goes bananas and cycles from blue screen to startup screen, over and over, world without end. I needed the internet for researching my projects, so I knew this wasn't going to work out. I packed up all my stuff, and grabbed a cup to go. As I headed home, I was fuming about how crappy my laptop is, and how badly I need a new one if I am going to be writing much from anywhere other than work (which will invariably be the case). I was feeling sorry for myself, which has been a particular idiocy of mine over the past little while. Then it struck me. I'm really bad at being thankful for what I have. I know that much of humour and comedy is built upon pathos and discontent, and I certainly take advantage of that reality. Since I've always been a bit of a clown, I've learned to turn my whining into something palatable enough that people don't seem to notice what an incredible ingrate I actually am. I could have written some sort of silly manifesto here about bad technology...I've done it before. People might giggle, leave some sympathetic comments complaining about their own malfunctioning gadgets. I'm always moaning about something. But you know what? Instead, I'm going to blog thankfully for a moment. I got this computer for free, with only the investment of small repair money, and a couple of wireless cards. The little hard drive was a gift from the repair shop, since they sponsor the nonprofit for whom I used to work. That's pretty great...I don't think most people get free drives because they used to run a camp. Even my Windows XP (which I malign up the yinyang) was a gift from a techie friend who gave me a good key during my reformatting time of need. My blogging software was a great gift, too, and heaven knows, I should be blogging 24 hours a day out of gratitude for that. I actually found a job writing a couple weeks ago, and the people I work with are excellent...they answer stupid questions, they don't look down their noses at my cluelessness, and they share their research with me to the benefit of my projects. How many writers actually get to work as writers? That's nuts. I'm pretty blessed in that capacity. My family seems to be doing much better...they have stuff on the go that is keeping them overly active, and that's a much better place to be than underactive. My mom works in a quirky place that is rich with anecdotal humour value, and my dad will be applying his wisdom and sense to a place that needs it desperately. And my brother...my brother is dating a hottie! And I bet Carey will be pointed in the direction of this entry as soon as he sees I've said that about her. Everyone just seems okay, though....and that's awesome. My party for my roommates went off without a hitch, and speaking of my roommates, they have been incredibly patient with me through my months of uncertainty. They make me laugh, they ask how my days go, they read my blog, they applaud my cooking, they dance and sing with me...all in all, a solid pair. Their lives are facing big changes now, too, and we all seem to be heading in directions that promise new adventures, and if not a reduction in stress, a fresh kind of stress, just to keep things lively. My friends, in totality, are excellent. They read my blog, they hang out with me, they talk to me for hours on the phone. I gave them tribute in my last entry, but they deserve all the praise they can get. They rock. And really, how can I be a cow when I get to eat every day, when I sleep in a safe place, when I have clothes on my back, and when I have folks who love me? The sun gives me freckles, coffee still tastes awesome, flip flops still make the same wonderful noise they always have, and eventually, I have faith that the damn zit on my chin will clear up. It's time for Meggy to start noticing what's good and what's right in her spinny little world. And to start expecting the best, and opening myself to all the possibilities. When I was walking home today, I spotted a very large man with dreadlocks carrying boxes into an apartment building. A couple floors above, a man who looked like a combination of Groucho Marx and Ghandi called down to him. "Hey, is that my stuff? That's awesome!" "Yeah, man, " the dreadlocked fellow replied with a smile, "You ready?" "Dude, " Ghandi said, "I was born ready." I couldn't have said it better myself. I think I'm ready to try being happy. It IS the way I was born...I just seem to have forgotten until now. 1:37:26 PM    build me up, buttercup... []

© Copyright 2005 Meg Fowler. Last update: 6/1/2005; 9:42:44 PM.