Falling into him is like this...

oh and

[blank] who i've been recently getting 'along' with and doing the weird kinda 'friend' thing where you still do choice things that you liked in the relationship, the only things that you liked doing in the relationship and it's been ok, but in the back of my mind, next to all the random jeopardy knowledge is the little ghost of relationships past who squeeks in my ear and says she knows how this will end,

and she was right.

and that saddens me more than the break-up did.

we were at our core, at our prime, at the height of the [blank]andsarah team really good friends. there are things i can tell him and all that stuff that i don't really have anyone else to tell them to. i know he feels the same, and this kinda sucks.

but i'm done enabling him.

that's the new mantra.

i just caught a glimpse of the little ghost and she's is smiling through tears.

so...

i spent a much needed mental health day with the gardener today. not much needed like i'm so overworked and blah blah but much needed for him and i, i think. it was just great to spend some time together doing what we both do best, or what he's teaching me to do atleast 1/3 as well as he does...hanging out, going with the flow and doing whatever.

whoah. back-up...

so i pick the gardener up from the wisdom teeth thing...which wasn't as bad as i thought and really he's fine which is WEIRD but he is weird so there. fuzzy headed i walk him to car, to drug store, through 2 beers, 2 oxy, 4 advil and he was FINE. talking and chatting and READING the body artist...

so today we wake up, he's taken the day off and as such, so must i...and go to the farmer's market in st. jacob's, which is by far one of my favourite places to go ever. we used to go once every few years as kids, and i just remember the food and smells and sounds and they were ALL THERE and molly came and got pig ears, and knuckle bones that she is now chomp chomp chomping on, and ate sausage and attained utter stardom.

the highlights:

ontario grapes that are SO good, buckwheat honey, unpasterized apple cider from a couple menonites in their little buggy insisting their brother bred molly, then saying the guy next to him was the brothers brother, and then calling the other brother over but the brother who supposedly bred her was absent so who will ever know...blueberry struedel, jerky, honey crisp apples, homemade soap (called china night), little girls in bonnets, and this...the highlights of all highlights (apart from watching molly in the gorge...)

we went to a cow auction. it was so very...farmy? then because the gardener is familiar with these type of things and answered all my ridiculous questions (me: where does milk come from? like why do they have so much milk? him: they're pregnant me: oh. why are they so thin? him: all their nutrients go into the milk me: oh. why are they hitting them? him: to get them to move. me: where are they going? him: probably to a truck. me: oh. can we buy a pig? him: you have to register. me: oh. can i register? him: i guess. me: why do they sell them? him: for money. me: oh. how much is a cow? him: i'm not sure, the prices are probably different now. they have a scale in the floor and it goes by pound. me: oh. him: we can go watch. me: ok. what does 71 mean? him: 71 cents a pound me: oh. so a cow is only like $500? him: yes. me: can i get one? him: no. me: don't let me leave here with a piglet ok? him: ok. ) so he takes me to the 'observation deck' which in most places is a cheesy little gate blocking a cheesy little 'kodak camera' spot that you're supposed to take pictures or look at with a little binocular thing that you put quarters in and never works BUT at an auction the observation deck is this HUGE walk-around where you go and look at all the cows that are being auctioned. and like there's a THOUSAND cows and all these little menonites (who are so HOT? am i wrong?) and they're all moo-ing and molly's just like completely out of her realm of capability in dealing with THIS, and we walked around and looked at the cows and he tells me all about them, and i picked out the ones i liked and there were little ones and a couple horses...then we go to the auction and there's a guy like on tv talking all fast and wearing dirty overalls. apparently you have to go to school for that.

it was amazing. really.

then we take all these little side roads and the gardener leads us to the alora? gorge and molly ohmigod was SO FREAKIN funny running through the little river, following the gardener run run running all over wet and muddy and seaweed smelling and it was just SO FUNNY.

then beer on top of a water fall.

then i took him home. and molly put two front paws up and looked out the back window and whimpered for a while, watching him walk away...

so.

one of if not THE best day i have had in MONTHS. i forget what it's like to be with someone smart and neat and weird and fun...and not a type of let's rent something expensive fun that i've become accustomed to, and y'know that's fun too, but the just doing nothing but doing so much watching cows kinda fun. god it was great. like so great. so great in fact that the only adjective i have is great which is ridiculous, the second dumbest adjective in the english language, the first being nice, followed by dumbest. frankly.

it was just so easy. and i, so content.

Tonight is the Harvest Moon. Molly and I are gonna go out and find a good spot by the water and sit and sigh and think and watch and take pictures of her face lit up in fall light from the moon.

Tonight is wisdom teeth. the gardener. and in my sympathy wisdom teeth pulling i have discovered something very strange about the tooth near the back, the 'problem' one that they've wanted to pull, root canal etc. i'm ignoring it, until it really hurts anyway, attempting my best to will my way out of major dentistry which is what i KNOW will happen.

OH bought a ralph lauren brass buttoned blazer on ebay. i like it A LOT.

i'm having a hard time getting out of bed and rolling...

Molly's watching dogs with jobs, about a dog (peedy peedy is the dog's unfortunate name) from New Zeland who chases but does not EAT endangered kiwi (the birds not the food), then a pug who competes and wins in agility tests. i'm seriously thinking of making molly DO something. she's so stubborn though. hummmmm....

seemingly a boring post

hummmmmmmmmmmmmmm....

a good post.

it's glenn gould's birthday today.

i had cbc news cranked this morning during the morning croissants and the station had tecnical difficulties throughout the ENTIRE glenn gould THING which you know is just kinda my luck.

i'm obsessed with these people, these music makers or makers of music about 10 - 15 years too late and it is just SO UNFAIR.

i'm re-reading the johnny cash biography, which i lent to the landscaper and he brought it back and tried to talk to me about it and there was so much i forgot, so i started re-reading. ANYWAY his manager from the 1970's to until he stopped recording was from London Ontario. He proposed to June in Toronto. I mean it sucks like hell that I never see him perform, that I just barely barely missed it, but there's also all these weird other geographical nearnesses. so i had my afternoon nap and dreamed about him, that i lived in a cabin next door to him and i should just get up the courage to go over and say hi WHICH is very telling about something else in my life, but there ya go.

ANYWAY

if you know me or don't know me you should know this about me...

i have a strange obsession with gould, that is on par with my joyce obsession EXCEPT the gould obsession is different in that...it's an obsession like i'm obsessed with stephen dedealus or molly bloom (the original not the fuzzy one). which doesn't make complete sense, using the joyce formula (and jon the physicist could help me out here) i should be obsessed with bach, who wrote the music not with gould who played it, as i would be obsessed with joyce who made dedealus.

the obsession is rooted i believe in my grandparents somehow who used to play this horrible AM radio station that made those horrible AM radio station noises, and they'd play a lot of opera type stuff, some big band, some plan bad, and of course gould. i think my grandmother may have 'seen' him, but i may be mixing that up with trudeau who i believe she kissed. my grandmother was a good looking women when she was younger.

ANYWAY

so then i start wondering why do i have this thing for gould? and the artist and i talk about it, and he decides it's the flaws of gould, as i cite that i loved when the cbc re-released unedited versions of the goldberg variations and if you turn it up you can hear gould hummmmmm, through the entire recording. so i ask the artist WHY would they take that out? and he said because it's a flaw. and looking at the long list of men i've been with, or been accussed of being with (some of them are just ridiculous) i suppose it's somewhat easy to agree with him, that i have this fascination or obsession with the flawed. but then i think what is flawed? i mean at what point is something or some situation flawed? i don't believe the humming is a flaw, i believe it's amazing and brilliant and weird and i dunno....i dunno how to talk about classical music and i'm gonna let a fuckin awesome slip, but that's what it's like. i put it on, and stop and stare and listen, really really listen. it's amazing. the way his voice goes with the music, the way his voice leads his fingers over the keys. i suppose the older guys, the guys who aren't employed in the jobs they could or should be, the guys with tattoos (which is the simpliest of all self inflicted flaws...as oppossed to say? marriage) the piercings, and unattainable, the drugs, the drinking, in retrospect i've had them all and i guess that certainly isn't flaw-less...clearly walking talking imperfections.

but gould is perfect to me.

just as they were all at some point perfect to me.

i didn't want this to turn into a weird introspective sparring session.

i really just wanted to say happy birthday glenn.

i'm gonna crank the goldbergs, maybe take molly for her evening walk around the just named glenn gould plaza by metro hall, and walking down toronto streets, fuzz bucket strutting along side, i'll hummmmm as much i can remember as celebration.

getting iced tea in a cup.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Second Level of Hell!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	High
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Very High
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Low
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very Low
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Very High
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Low
Level 7 (Violent)	High
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Moderate
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Low

Take the Dante's Inferno Hell Test

Second Level of Hell

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You have come to a place mute of all light, where the wind bellows as the sea does in a tempest. This is the realm where the lustful spend eternity. Here, sinners are blown around endlessly by the unforgiving winds of unquenchable desire as punishment for their transgressions. The infernal hurricane that never rests hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine, whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them. You have betrayed reason at the behest of your appetite for pleasure, and so here you are doomed to remain. Cleopatra and Helen of Troy are two that share in your fate.

i wait all week for the pruning of foliage and now it's fall and still i wait, even though it's an important time of year, as far as i can tell, for matters of foliage and horticulture or whatever is the appropriate david suzuki or whatever term and suddenly everything i touch has pruning shears, everything i delve into, everyone i surround myself with know the latin names and are way way beyond my fleeting love of miracle grow and into these things flowers and plants and things i have an incredible capacity to kill, terrible floodings or terrible droughts i take a seemingly healthly little violet spread and bring it home ohhhhhh coy coy little thing so sweet i place it in the window and play with it, and talk to it, and play glen gould to it, and this lasts between 48 and 72 hours and then i forget and in my guilt drown it or give up and let the poor thing leave this world...and i'm surrounding myself with people who are totally into this shit, totally into it, and as far as i can tell, really good at it...

and the gardener comes confused as hell but accepting the way it is, the way we are, and we hold hands as we walk through the parking lot, and we tell good stories and sad stories and i ask point blank what he's gonna do about the hw or me or us and he doesn't know, says he doesn't know and i'm an easier plant to take care of i think, stick me in the window and i'll grow and wilt and re grow and wilt and transplant me once in a while from little black pot to huge expansive clay one made in mongolia (OH GOB remember that poster in Shenzhen? the "make clay with our noses" or whatever it was? what WAS it?? god that was funny) and other than that i will thrive and grow and be the pride of any gardener and i don't know that he sees that yet, i don't know what he sees, but he lays next to me waking up at 3 coughing and i go get water, and i have a nuturing for him that i haven't felt since high school, and i don't know why...i think being with the men i was with, men that pushed anything remotely nuturing away, made me way too self conscious of it, but he smiles and says it's cute when i wash his coveralls for him, and hang up his clothes.

and the other flowerboy is more academic in his pruning...and it's different but good, he leaves tea at the back door and pops up when i need him and talks about foliage but in a different way...

and xxxx is around fleetingly and we don't talk about plants or flowers but work and business and he tells me all that is going on and i listen, and talk back and we hold each other, two people, our wilted branches, and infested parts visible to each other...

and all is easy and full and remarkable to find myself at this spot, in this place, so much has changed, so much is free and i think i see a new little bud next to the wilted branch on my pinky finger...

but honest to god, if i don't get out of this apartment today, i'm gonna start eating the desk.

The picture was taken in 1936 by Captain Provand and Indre Shira, on assignment at Raynham Hall for the magazine Country Life. It purports to show the ghost of the 'Brown Lady' who haunts Raynham Hall in England. The image is widely believed to be one of the best and most convincing of all the known photographs of ghosts.

According to legend, the Brown Lady of Raynham is the ghost of Lady Townshend who was married to Charles Townshend, a man known for his fiery temper. When Charles learned of his wife's infidelity, he punished her by imprisoning her in the family estate at Raynham Hall, located in Norfolk, England. He never allowed her to leave its premises, not even to see her children. She remained there until her death, when she was an old woman.

Over the next two centuries Lady Townshend's ghost was repeatedly sighted wandering through Raynham Hall, suggesting that she never left its premises even after her death.

I was lying in my bed last night staring
At a ceiling full of stars
When it suddenly hit me
I just have to let you know how I feel
We live together in a photograph of time
I look into your eyes
And the seas open up to me
I tell you I love you
And I always will
And I know you can't tell me
I know you can't tell me

So I'm left to pick up
The hints, the little symbols of your devotion

I’m working on a curriculum all week, actually Sunday – Tuesday when I’m supposed to be in Peterborough teaching, I’m here trying to re-work a curriculum in which the nurse who wrote it wrote “centred” for “centered” through the entire 200 pages. So last night I had a total melt down and deleted the entire thing and am now re-writing it.

and the other night I went for dinner with *** and kids and it ended gooooood and apart from civil every couple day emails I don’t hear from him which is really really great in a non-sarcastic way, just in a way, and I told him I didn’t want to ever do the whole relationship thing again and he agreed so now we’re friends who hold each other every couple of days when the need to hold something become non-negotiable…then this guy who talks like alan rickman though he says he doesn't i think he does and is pretty fuckin charming...and the landscaper was over last week? And it was good…then calls yesterday morning at like 7am and says he needs to see me and he sounds all weird and I think god someone’s died and I don’t have the ability to deal with this this Sunday morning, but he comes over, clean shaven, well dressed, shirt starched, totally hot as hell, and looks all weird and comes in while I’m making molly’s eggs, and holds me and kisses me long and deep and says he just has to see me, he misses me and doesn’t know that he doesn’t know what to do, and then in 15 mins. is gone for a family thing with the other hw, and when alan rickman is over with coffee and croissants I tell him the story and he says that I have to take control and stop just going with the flow and I’m all like the going with the flow thing is my new mantra and he tells me to shut up which is cute only because of the accent and he laughs at my replies and says I’m too smart for people and I sigh, and the other night after the landscaper and I watched walk the line and talked about Johnny Cash and he helped me get my shirt off and into bed and into his arms, before that he read Dante to me in the dark in Italian while I gleeming peering over his shoulder and read the English translations…

And there's a wedding, which is great, it's a good wedding and one which i am happy to go to (almost except for the weird anxiety thing) and the landscaper is coming with me which settle settle settles me, and i can wear the pretty new dress which is cute only because it will be the landscaper who will appreciate it and call me gorgeous and take my hand and i'll be happy and full...

And life is good. I just don’t need anything else falling from the sky at me y’know?

I think I’m somehow making peace.

so i have this kinda ebay obsession that mirrors GOB's not so recent ebay obsession...i'm atleast 3 years late...sometimes i'm SO out of it. but molly's 15 random squeky plush toys arrived today and she kinda sits there with her little under-over bite poking out, butterfly ears pulled back, while i cut open the package giving her little molly murmurs and turn it upside down, some of them hitting her on her head, and she picks each one up and shakes and squeks it, puts it down, picks up another one, shakes it and squeks it. her favourite seems to be this little green like witch hat with fuzz on the top and eyes and jelly fish tentacles on the bottom...she is as happy as i've ever seen her though i worry that since i've been working at home....it's kinda like the home school thing...a constant worry with a lot of positives. i'm scared she'll get weird like i get weird when i'm alone too long.

the landscaper was over. we watched walk the line, he for the first time, me for like the thousandth. i love johnn cash. i now have a poster of him lighting a cigarette from hammersmith odeon in 1966 over my bed, and i like it.
unrelated, i have a weird little almost zit that's been forming on my upper lip for days that's hurt for days and that is now this weird little red dot that hurts like hell.
the xxx emails...then says nothing for HOURS. his emails have become what it used to be like sleeping with him...this huge snore, as i laid awake and tried not to listen, then silence, then another, then a gap where he'd get stuck and NOT breath and i'd wait and wait and then just when i'd get freaked there would be this HUGE snore that'd scare the crap outta me...his emails are following the same progression.

OH! i also got the 2nd edition finnegans wake yesterday that i bought off ebay...it's sooooooo cool. i always wanted to kinda be a book collector type person but never quite got into it...the landscaper and i sat outside drinking beer, smelling the pages like petals, and reading random lines...

where are all the cigar smoking chicks? i thought i'd find some at babeville but no....definately hat wearing though. god. the concert was SO good, Ani was SO good, the best i've ever seen at the best venue i've ever seen...

gob was sick (poor thing) and i think truly struggled through the concert bummed by fph which creates some weird mixture of feeelings in me both that she puts so much into him (doesn't admit it) and he i don't know...that's the feeling...i don't know what his deal is i just know it hurts and that hurts because i'm sensitive, a great big pudding cup other peoples pain hitting me inside me, all of me until i eat my way out of it.

my sister came and drank a lot of wine and was happy and dancing and sweet though attached to the phone as always.

it was great. untouchable face, finally.

then we went to the bar after, stayed out til 300 i get up at 600 start work all groggyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy....

xxx stops by.

i don't know that i can write about that yet.

or ever.

i don't know if i should.

it's too soon. all too soon.

gob is calling me liberation bra girl.
ani has renamed the church babeville.
the incredible peace and happiness i feel has as much to do with being a 'girl' as it does with being 'me.'
in the impending days there are some things i know...

cl blows.
meeting people online...unforgiveable. after all, it IS where i met xxx soooooo....
working at home means i neither have to shower nor change my clothes. i get up, put on paint smeared jeans, type type type, write write write, eat eggs, go to bed in the same shirt, wake up in the same shirt and start all over again.
working at home means that molly gets to run around, lose stuff under the couch and sleep at my feet.
working at home means i can have a nap whenever i want.
working at home means i can start at 6 and end at 4.
working at home rocks.
i fear hermitude is close.
and i like it.
i have cable, a desk, the internet, a phone.
i love my car.
i don't him.
i don't know that i need anyone.
the landscaper and i play pool.
the landscaper and nuzzle into each other until each of us a sloppy messy stick stuck with too many over roasted marshmellows and mellowing we marsh into each others insecurities and lack of knowing better.
xxx talked talked talked to the landscaper. offering proof of my insanity. offering proof of the delusional pain i never gave him, offering proof of the destruction of us.
the landscaper believed it.
the landscaper doesn't believe it.
anymore.
i buy shit off ebay.
molly has a halloween costume, booties, a hoodie,
i, a tom waits shirt.
his friend brings my glasses and places on my small small air conditioner.
and coming home
seeing said glasses
aschew
i cry.
not a bad cry.
just. a. cry.
molly and i go for long walks.
at night she nestles into me, as close as becoming me as possible to be and whispers that she wants a friend.
my friends surround me. suicide watch i said, laughing, they laugh back, a man could never do that to you, to me, but so much more than what i was dealing with a boy a boy can so easily do it.
but he didn't.
i'm happy alone. have never been happier.
no drinking.
dnna and i smoke outside,
while the chicken man hangs my shelves.
his pain is my pain, his observations like strolling through a gallery looking at post modernism are my observations.
we are one in the same, touched by it.
i don't need or want sex.
i need and want conversation.
i need and want me.

life is so so good.

ok,

because of staulker boy the blog has changed...

which is a good thing. i'm gonna keep this one for random posts, poetry, molly news, boy news etc. but will also use the other one for other things, things i don't want or need the x to see, because he's emailed my mother enough, and is currently grilling and wah wah wah-ing to all my friends...and i just don't really need that, and i'm tired of talking about him...so.

to keep my sanity...

i will email the new blog, and if anyone leaks it to the x well i don't know. i'd be upset. it's so annoying to have to do so much freakin work just to get him to stop invading me, and if the new blog did leak, then i'd have to make a new new blog and let's face i just don't have that many names in me...

if you want the address of the other blog, email faintedink@yahoo.ca.

ahhhhhhhhhh....

s

i'm

surrounding myself with friends and family, women and men, who don't make me feel like i'm eating myself apart from the inside out...

mending.

i feel.

better.

atleast like i'm almost there...almost at the end of a very long turn

on myself.