worst suit EVER

One of my least favourite things: body hate.

Being crazy (clinically speaking, anyway) and having an eating disorder (though currently asymptomatic) is like wearing an enormous full-body suit with lead hands and feet which cause you to stoop forever, which causes chafing because the belly of the suit is made out of steel wool. Oh and the suit has built-in goggles which are always dirty and made of frosted glass. Also, the suit is way too warm and you want to take it off SO bad, but you can never ever ever take it off.

So today at my parents' house i tried on a dress my aunt gave me two months ago and when i zipped it up it was decidedly snugger than it was then. I started to freak out, verbally, while my mom was in the next room. "Oh, it's probably your new meds, honey!" she said.

To which my only thought was: ohgodohgodohgod i have lost control over my body i gotta get it back NOW

and what really tops this scenario off is that two of my most special, best supports for body stuff are 1) a health professional i can no longer see because she's in another province and 2) someone who recently has demonstrated that he cannot or will not be a support to me through his complete lack of condolence during another time of need.

i am going crazy (crazier) in this fucking suit, you guys!

taking pictures of a girl who's in a wheat field

My dreams have been startlingly sad lately. I choose to think this the result of the new, sleep-inducing medication I've been prescribed.

Last night after I closed my eyes I desperately wandered a nameless New York metro station, rocking forward on tippy-toes looking for a tall figure in the crowd. Wandered into an underground symphony hall where a beautiful orchestra was practicing Brahms. I sat alone in the huge theatre and began to weep into my bag of candy. I tried to call out a request for Sibelius but my voice wouldn't emit anything but a pale squeak.

When the orchestra took an intermission from rehearsal, I stared into the familiar brown eyes of a cellist and my heart didn't flutter but stung like bitten fingers; itched like a new sunburn. We leaned in and didn't kiss but breathed gently into one another. He pressed two new HB pencils into my open palm and then I was alone in the metro again as trains rushed by.

with your silent brand-new sneakers

In the eight days that I've been here, there hasn't been one day where it hasn't rained (or snowed, in today's case).

Not to be overly dramatic, but I've also already been to the hospital. It's all okay right now, in the immediate sense, but I can't shake this feeling of doom.

She said, in her completely public blog.

On the positive side of things, I have already been to the liberry (liberry! LIBERRY), the statue garden, the teen sex cove, various drinking establishments, the quasi-vegan bakery, and the roastery.

My drawings haven't been very good lately.

Last night Steph and Cat and PD and I curled up in blankets and read out loud to each other whilst drinking peppermint tea. It was really lovely.

That's really all I can report. I'm hoping for feeling better once printmaking starts.

you hear me now.

I am visiting my hometown, which i have been counting down the days to forever.
I have seen three of my dearest friends (feminist posse!).
I have had the opportunity to hang out with my parents quite a bit.

And: I am, of course, unsatisfied. But more than that. I feel as though I'm wrapped up in a soft but strangely itchy veil, and i'm completely naked underneath. I need the veil's protection and it is inhibiting everything, at the same time.

we don't have to be anything quite so unreal

So, school...is done.

I'm strangely not even that ecstatic. But I am really glad it's over. OVER!

My past few weeks have been really lovely and weird. I've been house-sitting at this house with an ungodly loud refrigerator and a suspiciously uncomfortable bed and super loud upstairs neighbours, but somehow this hasn't upset me too much. Instead, I have fitful sleep punctuated with bizarre dreams about refrigerators. It's kind of fun.

I shaved a small band of my head. On the left side of my head. It runs from my temple to the nape of my neck and you can't see it unless i wear my hair up. It feels like a newborn kitten, and I can be seen absent-mindedly stroking the patch behind my left ear (handy because I can adjust my glasses with my right hand at the same time).

Ten days from now, I'll be in Saskatchewan. Before that, I have a tonne of zines to finish and photocopy (on a real tight budget) and a festival to attend. Oy. I need to stop by Midoco and pick up some new pens, as I've been wearing them down like a fiend with everyday drawings. I feel like I'm finally getting somewhere. Maybe.

This summer I want to shriek with giggles and kick my feet, wholly delighted with something ridiculous. I wanna sit in the Cooleymobile at the Teen Sex Cove eating blood orange sorbet and talking shit and listening to silly music. Ohhh and drink baby duck by the Meewasin eat five-cent candy on the rooftops of Broadway listen to new order while i get ready for art shows.

Things are going to go well. I know this.

tummy rumblings.

Your fragility is so destructive.

your dreams blindfold you by the light you make.

The end of March is hard for me.

The anniversary of J's passing is creeping up. I've been having dreams about his dark brown (almost black eyes) set in his thin face. About how his nostrils flared ever so slightly when he was anxious. I've been thinking about how when he burst into a grin at one of my silly jokes, it never reached those almostblack eyes, and how guilty I feel that I never noticed this fact until after he was gone.

J...if you can read this through some magical afterlifey powers...please know how much I've been thinking of you. Don't feel guilty or sad; I know you had to go and the decision would have been hard enough without having to think of how others would take it. Maybe I was just some peripheral figure at your hellish workplace, but J...you made me happy. I looked forward to heading into that cramped, cold chart room because I knew you'd be there. I knew you'd do your hilarious Ali G impression or tell me about Derrida or that we'd talk about Einsturzende Neubauten. You were truly special to me. I hope you're somewhere, full of light and love and that your beautiful dark eyes are part of your smile now.

On a separate note, late march is also when my stomach starts clenching with the remembrance of love. I don't try to push it out of my mind; I gently allow myself to push at my own swollen heart. In wonder.