katiclops

This is a very serious blog.

Month: March, 2012

Post #2: Note to self, insomnia, and the federal budget

Well, here we are again.

Two days ago I went to a two hour long session looking at mobile and e-commerce.  I typed the six-panel discussion entirely by thumb on my iPhone.  You would not believe the thumb crampage going on to you as I type this.  Every space bar is like a knife to my metatarsals…there is a future for tablets after all….

I was going to mark off that I wrote today on my calendar at work, like my pay day or the cabergoline I’ve been taking, but I fought the urge.  I don’t want this to be like a medication or an obligation.  If it fails I have failed, but it’s not like a drug. More like going to the gym.  I want to go because it makes me feel good.  Because it’s sunny out and I love runny fast.  Because it’s what I do in my free time.  Not because I get to check off another square on my calendar.

More rain today.

The federal budget dropped.

It felt like some kind of twisted backwards Christmas.  There was this aura of grotesque excitement in the air as we all clustered in our boardroom to stream the coverage off CBC. Peter Mainsbridge was there, with his blue suit and handsome unflailing white rimmed hairless head. The coverage was the wort I have ever seen from CBC.  Feeds were dropped, static flashed across the scene, audio was missing.  Good connections seemed to  never be of the right scenes.

Night love.

you’re my night love.

you’re my knight love.

your (my) night (love).

~k

To do list #1

This weekend will be a full and productive weekend.

This weekend I will:

Finish the laundry I have been intending to do since returning from Portland. Three weeks ago.

Do the yoga I intended to do when I left my mat out on the floor (admittedly now covered in laundry).

Go grocery shopping as to avoid smoothie survival off semi-rotten frozen discounted fruit in freezer as per this week.

Replenish fruit in freezer.

Finish my LAST PAPER FOR MY (current) MASTERS.  Really.  Write the whole darn thing.

Finish my taxes. For the last five years.

Wash the bathroom floor.

Call my grandmother.

Read at least one more chapter of Salman Rushdie’s the ground beneath her feet before I forget the characters names (again).

Go for a walk.

Take at least one long hot shower.

Write.

This list would have been happily continued, except it is already exceeding katiclops limits. It feels so great writing lists, like you have really accomplished something.  Ha! See world! Making progress already…the first step to accomplishing things is to acknowledge that things must be accomplished!  Funny how it’s missing the imperative weekend “catch on sleep abstained from since prior weekend…” Perhaps it’s an indication this insomnia is planning on sticking around….

The cherry blossoms are just starting to come out in Vancouver, and it smells amazing.  There aren’t really any where I live, or where I work for that matter.  Our streets are lined with broad leaf maple , which are starting to bud, and our feet with crocuses in the community reclaimed curb gardens, which are just started to peek their heads up out of the winter grass.  The willows by the park never lost their leaves.  But tonight I was in the West End and it smelled divine. It’s like their neighbourhood missed the memo that decorating exclusively in flowers is not allowed.  That it flaunts affluence, safety and oblivion.  That it’s a little guache to use that much pastel.  The whole street was encompassed in a giant pink cloud of cotton candy or some type of delicious smelling snow and the wind (which at this point at subsided to kittenly) was making all of the branches bounce almost jovially. Serious spring in your step.  Here because it is night time, I can not see outside, but the wind chime and lack of sirens tonight seem to sing the sweet song of July.

 

Post #1: It had to happen sometime.

Well, here we are.

There always has to be a first time.

(shuffles feet/jams hands in pockets/looks nervously at ceiling)

Somebody has to write the first post.  It just happens.  It’s normally better when you just get it over with, so if it fails it can be forgotten or laughed about, told about over beers, another dinner party vignette.  Orphaned or abandoned, it will only happen once there is this one.

And it takes two you know.

Normally it’s best when blogs just launch into things, so that when people hit the back button they abruptly end.  Assuming that this is a blog continued from some other, archaic, obsolete server, now defunct and rusty in dad’s leaky basement. That prior to wordpress, there existed other blogging platforms, wherein people invested hopes and dreams, meanderings and self-reflections, pre-cloud and pre- anything really…that when wordpress came along it was finally time to throw that all aside and continue here, in this new platform, until the next thing comes along…but for me this was it.  This is it!

Ah well, now you will have arrived here.  Hello! This was it. This was the first post.

You made it back this far.

No sense in greeting you like we are beginning a journey together, this is much more likely the end, all we have in front of us is the rest of time (but that, you already know).

This blog was initially started with no intent, just being.  A blog that had to be!  It was started with kindness and hope, and no particular objectives in mind.  Tonight it was mild, with a slight warm spring breeze. March was in like a lamb and out like a ferocious lion. It rained all day, hailed for two hours over lunch, and a vicious wind tunnel was created down Georgia that succeeded in plastering me against the two storey high glass and metal doors that flank the entrance to our twin of the two twin towers.  I was late for work this morning and drank a smoothie out of a pickle jar. After I sufficiently tamed the mess of soggy hair that became plastered to my face in the two minutes I crossed Hamilton with my umbrella closed.

Yes.  Now you have arrived at the very last post and realized that I am exactly *that* kind of blogger.  The pickle jar smoothie drinking, flyawayhair growing, self-narrating kind.

Good heavens! Blogs always start with the best of intentions.  This one has just happened, no lofty claims. It could really be nothing more than a diary of lunches and weather forecasts. This first post I’m afraid will stumble off a little more like a sheep.

Now that the last blog post you will ever read of mine is done, I would like to thank you! And say that I am honoured in acquiring such a fan.  Flattered and touched.  Undeserving really.

I hope that this is not the only post you have read.  To a long and blogful blog for us both.

In solidarity,

~kmh