procrastination tastes like weeping

Pictures came back from the developers today. It felt odd somehow, like I’d never been to the lab before, because for the first time in a long time I knew almost exactly what was going to be on the rolls. Looking at the translucent negatives, I knew there wouldn’t be any nudity, for example. As I’ve already had a full day of doing other peoples dishes and putting them to sleep with my amazing un-geisha-like skills, I’m feeling lazy. Luckily, Robin is too. Fancy that. So this evening he’s playing video games and I’m scanning photos.

Here’s one my roomate took of me the day I was falling asleep in odd places all over the apartment:

nothing in particular

So J has survived Wakefest though painfully. Being the director of the festival, he has to run the volunteer party this evening, so I’m going to go coddle him out of his hangover with Pho before he has to drag his tomcat self out to shake it wihth all the pretty girls. Seems like a good way to visit his kitten.  I missed Wakefest myself, Sunday being the last day. Dominique and Rowan dropped by last night with thier friend. This city being the small inscestuous pool it is, we’re fairly sure we knew eachother. His speech was certainly familiar. In any case, the company and the chocolate covered coffee beans were a certain treat. *grinning*

For those of you who enjoy hued hands, I’m planning on the aubergine solution this evening around five.

it’s this sort of thing that’s making me fall in love with my in-box

it has maraschino cherries too

Street servicemen were banging outside my window at 8:30 in the morning. It sounded like rocks being smashied clangingly into pipes. I rolled over in protest and attempted to wait it out, finally to discover the time was far too early. Why is there an 8:30 in the morning? Who was the cruel bastard that decided that?

Just for this, I’m having the chocolate cake for breakfast like I said to myself I wouldn’t.

edit: I checked my music download and discovered someone who has listed for sharing every single eurovision song contest winner from 1956 to present day. Complete with entrants home country listed. I’m in a wierd sort of awe at that. Not a healthy sort. I’m going to try to go back to bed and deny this man exists.

the golden summer of no mistakes

For those with the link, there’s some new music up at the FTP. If you want the link, you may just tell me so and I’ll send it. Many apologies to those who’re curious because unless you are know already, you are not going to find out the why the folder names. Because damnit – I feel like it. It has been pointed out to me that everyone should at least have one question they will not answer so I have arbitrarily decided that this, for now, will be mine until I can think of a better one. You won’t die, I won’t die. No casualties across the board. We win. I give you a mystery. Silver plated with a heart on top.

I just did a bad thing. I think I just stepped on someone’s mortality. I created the void of nostalgia and it sucked someone under. We were talking about their ex and how she wasn’t dealing well with her current. They broke up a few years ago and they’re still quite good friends. Quietly, I suspect they still play the carnal knowledge game every once and awhile, but I’ve never asked. He was asking after my ex and the subject of age came up, as mine is fourty this year and he thought it rather odd that someone twenty-two could have withstood the age gap. “Aren’t you found too young for someone so much older?” In among the apparently wonderful wild tale of my fantastically harsh childhood, I pointed out that I’m too young to have ever considered my own death properly in the scope of things. Oops. He hit the fifty mark sometime in the last couple of years and I think I brought about his awareness of time. To paraphrase, “It’s hard growing up. You fight it without ever thinking about it. You’re brave for your age and stupid until you get older. I got sad.” He logged off after that, reminding me of the Widow I met in Toronto. I had just met a group of people the night before and had gone home with them spur of the whim. Everything falling into their places. Click, click, click. Had no-where to stay the night and the crowd parts, that movie magic moment, to let pass the most handsome man I had ever seen, who then walks straight up to me and introduces himself. “Have you got anywhere to stay the night?” Maybe this does only happen to the young, but I went with them, and the next night found myself at the local equivalent of a Hells Angels biker bonfire party out at Oakville. She was there, the Widow, I’ll never remember her name, that’s who she always will be to me. This woman who expressed such loss and sorrow and love that she has wiped her name away. She told me to take what the world was offering me, because I will never have another chance. I knew already somewhere what she was telling me. To bite the fruit, the sun. The sadness that this night would never happen again flooded through and I took it and swallowed it whole. I remembered how to smile again and I told that handsome man that I would like to have him. That it was time for us, now, here, in the early morning of dawn.

Of course, what with all the vodka jell-o shots that people had been giving me and I had been passing onto him, it’s not like it happened. We curled asleep on the hard floor of his orange van and slept in past when we were due back in the city, but the offer stood. Which was perfect. Chaste disappointment tasting sweeter for the personal acceptance of truth.