When we moved into our house, we affectionately patted the walls and exclaimed “We love the colours! Everything already matches all our stuff! We’re not going to change a thing!” And we really meant it, too. But then days turned into months, months turned into years, and we discovered that we kind of hated having a red living room, and we felt the builder’s beige in the kitchen was kind of blah, and the baby’s room green that covered the walls in my office did not feel appropriate for someone as creative and vibrant as I occasionally and desperately yearn to be.
So we painted. And lo, it was painful. I discovered that while I very much like having had painted, I do not like to actually paint, as it seems a task that would be far better suited to someone much taller and with much greater stores of patience and intestinal fortitude. (more…)
A quick glance at the calendar seems to indicate that I am once again a blogging delinquent. Life lately seems to be devoid of the dizzying highs and terrifying lows and instead has settled nicely in the realm of the creamy middle (to borrow and butcher a turn of phrase from Homer Simpson) and besides all that, I have been immersing myself in a work project, the details of which aren’t particularly interesting at this point, except to say that I have discovered that there aren’t many good adjectives that start with the letter “r”.
I promise to rack my brain for something interesting to post about, but in the meantime, I will offer you a link to something else to read. My brilliant and talented friend Luke is writing a children’s novel and posting the chapters as he completes them. I love it, and I’m pretty sure you’ll love it too. You can find the first four chapters here.
Even though my insomnia seems to have mostly disappeared in recent months, I still have incredibly restless sleep plagued by increasingly strange and unnerving dreams. They’re recurring too, which you’d think would make it easy for my subconscious to recognize what’s going on and remind me that it’s not real, but instead that fact seems to make it worse, because I know exactly what is going to happen and I can’t stop it. It’s inevitable – at least once a week, I am going to be trapped in an elevator inexplicably plummeting to the bottom of the elevator shaft over and over again, with the passengers crashing first into the ceiling and then into the floor as the elevator comes to a screeching halt. Lather rinse repeat, until I wake up, my freshly conscious mind awash with a smooth blend of relief and panic. (Sidebar: I don’t have the first clue what a dream like this could mean. Is the elevator a metaphor for life? Am I feeling jerked about by circumstances I can’t control? Am I watching too many episodes of Fringe before bed?) (Sidebar to the sidebar: Am I the only one who has to watch that show with her hands over her eyes, shrieking at her husband to tell me WHAT’S HAPPENING and OH MY GOSH IS THE GIANT SLUG GONE YET? I am? Okay then.) (more…)