For you, the dress code is casual.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Wah! I have to be an adult again!

In about 45 minutes, I'm declaring my vacation over. Getting back to work in more ways than one. I'm going to fuss with a template and do a few other things. I think I've been on a break, sort of, since the start of December.

I've hated the thought of writing. I'm sick and tired of being honest and up front with MY shit. I'm as fucked up as you or he or she or they. We all have our crap, and I've been airing mine for a good long time.

I wonder if the fear of having to write about shit has changed how I might act in some situations. I dunno. I decided I'd sort of try to stop writing about every little thing this past month. I think I needed to hear my own voice for a little while.

To be honest, what I need is a week squirrelled away in some Pacific hideaway. Oregon, Tofino, whatever. Locked up. No people. FUCK people. GAWD. I'm in this "I love you but I hate you, can you come back in a week?" mindset right now. Can't shake it! I'm sure it'll go away soon, though. Still. I would just kill to be in a seaside room with the smell of salt and the crash of a violent Pacific wave on a rocky outcrop, scribbling away on a pad.

But all I got is the splash of hell-bent cars swooshing up the main drag just east of me, that and the "it's only 'fresh' because it's been raining hard for two days" urban air outside. Hardly enthralling, I assure you.

Anyhow. Don't let this fat ass fool you. Vacation's over. Shit needs to get done. As much as I'd rather be in Oregon.

(Fuckety fuck fuck fuck. Curse you, city of mine.)

On the happy side of things -- we're halfway through winter! Aha! Yay! Woohoo! Huzzuh!

And I have things to do. So, I'm going to get cracking. I will continue doing the job search as I have been. It's creative. Shows my pugnaciousness long before they meet me, meaning I'm not going to be going to anyone too stiff or proper. Hopefully I can avoid the discrimination this time 'round.

It's really fucking ironic it happened when it did. I was already underway with a "get healthy now" plan. Now, though, I'm real good and motivated.

Tonight I'm trying to invent something sort of Tuscan peasant or something. Instead of having it with bread, though, I'll have wild rice. I'm cooking with my own stock, so I expect everything to be rich and flavourful. Also cooked in stock will be the main course -- asparagus, cherry tomatoes, and a couple fresh artichokes. Cooked in lemon juice and stock with a couple chicken thighs. I'm trying to decide between fresh thyme or basil, tho. Leaning towards the latter as I have it. :P

But, yeah, there'll be a few other things in there -- shallots, etc, to build some flavour. I was trying to think of something nice and healthy I could do using my stock. I made 20 cups of it! I still have a carcass in the freezer, as well as another bird to roast, so within 2 weeks I'll have another 20 cups of it. So, I can use it in everything. Besides, it's cold'n'flu season. My flu shot combined with steady doses of homemade chicken stock will make me invulnerable!


Yeah. I need to get away. Or someone needs to up my medication. Sigh. January blahs are here. Just imagine, there are 28 days left of the January blahs as well as 28 days of the February ones, too. But I come from hardy Irish stock, right? I can tuff it out. Ick.

I have this dream writer's cabin in my mind. It's one I wrote as a setting in a story I wrote a few years back. It's a wooden cabin, but finished with 1x10 slat siding, not logs. Dark, too. Windows have stained oak frames. Rustic drapes with country patterns. Plank flooring inside and out. My old 1840s camelback armchair would be there, next to homemade bookshelves. A lumpy leather couch with a blanket on it. Some spot-worn rugs scattered about. Oil lamps for the spotty electrical service, thanks to the spurts of bad weather in the winter, my favourite time to hole up.

But, y'know, many a place will do. :)

Well. An ambitious day lies ahead, and the hours are growing late, so. Off to the shower. Fitting that the trashmen are crashing about in the alley below.