Rhubarb Rhubarb. (Did someone say something about looooove?)

I finished the play. The short one. Submitted it to the festival. Very pleased with myself. Very very pleased with and grateful to Penelope for sitting on me to get it done. I was talking to my friend Tom today and he was talking about all the things he has started writing and not finished and I told him he needs his own private Penelope. Then I thought that was a good title for something.

Here's some good news, for me at least. Looks like the guy I'm subletting from isn't coming back 'til some time in the fall, so I don't have to move again for a while. Yay, I can finish unpacking! I was starting to feel a bit anxious about finding a spot to be. This totally saves my life for the next few months...have a base while in and out of town, and likely will be able to help my brother out with a place when he needs it, as well. Hopefully we'll be in and out of town at odd times so we can share. Or, actually, I'm not really sure I do hope that, because that would mean we would never see each other. He's still on the beach in Thailand. Man, that'd be nice.

I've decided to put an add on Craigslist asking if anyone would like to take me on a trip to Mexico. How's that for a plan? Could be creepy, but maybe I'll get a trip to Mexico. Or Southern California. Or Arizona. Or any fucking place warm. I need some time being warm. Hot, even. Baking. (Yes, yes, I will wear very strong sunscreen so as not to damage my peaches and cream...)

So, let's say you have been avoiding romantic relationships for a long time for various reasons, and recently you have come to the conclusion that you are ready for one, and then you meet someone who really makes your heart go ba-boom, and you hook up, but maybe he/she lives across a border, or something, and you are unclear on whether he/she would necessarily be interested in pursuing something, even though there was clearly a sweet connection there...how do you make it happen? Or something. My "friend" was asking. It's not me. Why would you think that?

I wrote a play. God, it's satisfying to say that.

And I just won a game of online Scrabble. Always puts me in a good, if a bit smug, mood. Dinner time.



snow? SNOW?!

Sick again. Feel like it hasn't really left me from the January bout, and keeps rearing it's head. And that head is snotty, indeed.

Strange week, lots of sad anniversaries this week. This is when my dad first collapsed into a coma, a day which remains extremely vivid in my mind, and one which I still can not really talk about, or dwell on. Yeah, that's a portion of the journey that still really terrifies me. For the most part, I have been recovering from the year with much aplomb, I think, but the occasional stab in the heart still catches me by surprise. I have entered this very strange phase of thinking he's alive. It's confusing. Because I have also realized he is never never coming back, but...oh, I haven't quite put it all into words yet. I have a tattoo on my right shoulder of a heart with wings, I got it right after my dad died. I got a scratch right in the middle of the heart and it is bleeding, so it looks like the heart is bleeding. Weird day.

This sensation of his being alive started a couple of weeks ago, the night before my brother left for South Asia. (The bum is laying on a beach as we speak). We were hanging out with a bunch of friends and my brother started telling the story of the time he got the day of a very important flight wrong and nearly had a breakdown with worry. Our dad woke up early and came down to see what the ruckus was and gave him a ride to the airport. When Jesse (my brother) was telling the story, he quoted our dad and for some reason, right for that moment, I completely forgot he was dead. I just thought about how we would laugh about it the next day. It made me feel sort of floaty and out of my own skin, and relieved, and a bit confused. He was so very alive for me in that moment. I didn't tell my brother, he was so relaxed that night, I didn't want to make him cry, and it would have.

Then I went and read "The Way the Crow Flies" by Anne-Marie MacDonald. I actually managed not to sob and sob at the end, mostly because I'm sick and I don't feel like aggravating my snot factory any further. But it was a monumental effort not to just roll up into a little ball and cry and cry and cry. The main character took me right back into myself as a child, and it was like I was revealed to myself. It's been a long time since I related to a work of fiction on such a profound level.

Oy, my head hurts.




Yes, yes. It has been a good long stretch of time. It's because I have been DOING things. Which is good. Very good. And being a bit put out by being surrounded on all levels by conservative governments. Which means at the municipal level we lose out on the great plan for False Creek/Olympic Village social housing, at the provincial level we are talking about expanding our capacity for cars instead of looking into alternatives to driving, and at the federal level we are poised to sell our souls to the devil from down south. Speaking of the devil, when did George Bush decide he was the champion of alternative energy sources? I mean, heck, I'm all for it, but did you hear his state of the union address? "America (pause here to make it sound like what he's about to say no one has ever said, much less thought before) is addicted to oil. (pronounced ayhl). The only way to break this addiction is through technology, by looking into alternative energy sources." Do you think it's possible Bush finally read a book? I wonder.

On a completely different note, I met two Greek Orthodox Monks the other day. I had no idea there was a monastery on the Sunshine Coast, but apparently there is. And these two young men, full beards, black skullcaps, dressed kind of like squeegee punks, their city clothes I guess, have made a lifetime committment to living at the monastery. I said it must be very peaceful there, and they both got kind of beatific looks on their faces and said, yes, it is very peaceful. It's an interesting choice, devoting yourself to the study of your religion.

I have recently been dubbed a SNUD. A Semi Nomadic Urban Dweller. I think it's very apt, and am happy to have a crowd. Seems to me so many people I know fall into this category. Moving every two years, or more, couch surfing for months at a time, subletting, housesitting. I'm going to launch a sociological study. It came up with my friend Brad, an artist who is in constant motion, and always wishing to be still for a few years in a row. I always think I want a stable home, too, but things come up, my feet get itchy. I think it has something to do with not having decided that where we are is where we want to settle. You gotta give your career some serious attention and see where it wants you to go. Or, as in the case of some, you just keep choosing the wrongest places to live. Ceilings caving in and whatnot. Anyway, when I have some FREE TIME (HA!) I'll dive into the study.

I have already got myself a pile of projects that I am wading through, joyfully, but all of which demand more of my attention. Standup had to lose out for a while, but hopefull is coming back around. Plus actual job, plus writing all these plays, plus learning Final Cut Pro, plus the teaching job, it's a lot. But every little bit is so good, so I'm trying to carve out spots for everything. Keeping my fingers crossed that my sublet wants to stay overseas a couple months longer, otherwise it's almost time to move again!!!!! SNUD, through and through.