Is it just me or
or are my blog-post titles of late
pulling me back to my childhood?
Friday, August 19, 2011
Alice in Wonderland
Oh My God!!!
My massage was wonderful.
And inexpensive.
And I did not have to travel far to get it.
WOW! Alice is a real healer.
Now I feel all loose and BENDY-BENDY....
I will definitely be a return customer.
And my throat feels better too.
But I think I will have to go see my Dr. for my sore throat.
'Cause I still have an infection.
And it is slowing me down.
My massage was wonderful.
And inexpensive.
And I did not have to travel far to get it.
WOW! Alice is a real healer.
Now I feel all loose and BENDY-BENDY....
I will definitely be a return customer.
And my throat feels better too.
But I think I will have to go see my Dr. for my sore throat.
'Cause I still have an infection.
And it is slowing me down.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Feeling like a Pooh!
I really feel like whining today.
I feel like a Pooh!
Whine, whine, whine......
My throat hurts soooooo much.
I barely did anything today.
No gym. No energy.
I cancelled my plans for this evening.
I was supposed to go and see GATINEAU with Janie tonight.
Instead I will just stay in the 'hood and take it easy.
Thank God I go for acupressure tomorrow.
Hopefully she can drain my lymph nodes.
They are swollen and hurt like hell.
Whine, whine, whine......
I feel like a Pooh!
Whine, whine, whine......
My throat hurts soooooo much.
I barely did anything today.
No gym. No energy.
I cancelled my plans for this evening.
I was supposed to go and see GATINEAU with Janie tonight.
Instead I will just stay in the 'hood and take it easy.
Thank God I go for acupressure tomorrow.
Hopefully she can drain my lymph nodes.
They are swollen and hurt like hell.
Whine, whine, whine......
Sunday, August 14, 2011
The Red Handbag II - Creative Writing
The Red Handbag II
The crowd descends the staircase in silence.
At this early hour, many are still half asleep.
They all quicken their pace
as the vibration of the approaching train can be felt underfoot.
Time is precious.
And the morning passengers are the worst pressed for time.
An old man descends the stairs one at a time
on his way to the embarkment.
In his right hand he holds his cane
while his left hand grips onto the central bannister.
Despite his fragile appearance, life is good.
He is returning home from a sleepover
at his girlfriend's house.
Margaret is ten years younger than him
which makes her seventy-nine years old.
He's an old goat but he can still keep up with her in the bedroom.
He whistles to himself as he slowly continues down the stairs,
lost in his reverie.
Behind the old man,
a young woman with an enormous red handbag
is sighing loudly in exasperation.
She is late.
Again.
That makes three times this week alone.
Her supervisor warned her that the next time she was late,
there would be an interview with the big boss.
Shit! That's all she needs.
An interview with the company's CEO, Ross Desmarais.
There were rumors running through the office that
she had been sleeping with him.
Given that the rumors were true,
she would probably get fired. Again.
"No favoritism for the office slut",
would be the verdict.
And what did she get out of it?
Well, this gorgeous, red Prada bag, for one.
Sex with Ross was definately mediocre.
But this red, Prada handbag that he gave her
was absolutely delicious.
Her dreams of life as a fashion Diva are interrupted
when she hears the sound of the train doors opening,
The young woman passes the old man.
In her haste she bangs into the old man with her big, red handbag.
She feels badly about it
but continues on to catch the train.
She is really late.
And her feet are already killing her in these shoes.
Her heels are high enough to cause a sprain
should she take a misstep
so she moves towards the train doors
with little baby steps.
"Why did I have to wear these bloody shoes?", she asks herself.
Despite the shoes,
she manages to slip into the subway just in time.
The subway is so packed that she is barely in the train.
Nobody moves aside to give her some space.
The crowded train resists her efforts
to move deeper into the subway car.
Great!
That is all she needs.
"It is probably my karma for bumping into that old man on the stairs," she thinks.
"Now it's my turn."
Half of her big, red Prada bag is hanging out of the train.
The train doors close.
Most of the big, red handbag is caught outside of the doors.
As she turns around to struggle with the doors,
trying in vain to get them to open,
she sees the old man that she passed on the staircase.
He is on his hands and knees
at the foot of the stairs.
"Oh! my God!", she gasps outloud. "What have I done?"
She pushes again to seperate the doors:
a final attempt to rescue her handbag
and run to help the old man.
One last push and the doors reopen.
She clutches her bag to her chest
But her heels prevent her from moving quickly.
The doors open and close with such speed.
She is caught on the train,
unable to repair the damage she has done.
The train starts to move away.
Her last view is that of the old man struggling to get up.
Her bag is safe
but she feels like hell.
"I am a selfish monster", she concludes.
"When am I going to get my shit together?"
As she continues on her way to work,
she feels the weight of the world on her right shoulder.
And on her left one,
she feels the weight of her big, red Prada bag.
I really got into this writing exercise.
The possibilities are infinite.
The crowd descends the staircase in silence.
At this early hour, many are still half asleep.
They all quicken their pace
as the vibration of the approaching train can be felt underfoot.
Time is precious.
And the morning passengers are the worst pressed for time.
An old man descends the stairs one at a time
on his way to the embarkment.
In his right hand he holds his cane
while his left hand grips onto the central bannister.
Despite his fragile appearance, life is good.
He is returning home from a sleepover
at his girlfriend's house.
Margaret is ten years younger than him
which makes her seventy-nine years old.
He's an old goat but he can still keep up with her in the bedroom.
He whistles to himself as he slowly continues down the stairs,
lost in his reverie.
Behind the old man,
a young woman with an enormous red handbag
is sighing loudly in exasperation.
She is late.
Again.
That makes three times this week alone.
Her supervisor warned her that the next time she was late,
there would be an interview with the big boss.
Shit! That's all she needs.
An interview with the company's CEO, Ross Desmarais.
There were rumors running through the office that
she had been sleeping with him.
Given that the rumors were true,
she would probably get fired. Again.
"No favoritism for the office slut",
would be the verdict.
And what did she get out of it?
Well, this gorgeous, red Prada bag, for one.
Sex with Ross was definately mediocre.
But this red, Prada handbag that he gave her
was absolutely delicious.
Her dreams of life as a fashion Diva are interrupted
when she hears the sound of the train doors opening,
The young woman passes the old man.
In her haste she bangs into the old man with her big, red handbag.
She feels badly about it
but continues on to catch the train.
She is really late.
And her feet are already killing her in these shoes.
Her heels are high enough to cause a sprain
should she take a misstep
so she moves towards the train doors
with little baby steps.
"Why did I have to wear these bloody shoes?", she asks herself.
Despite the shoes,
she manages to slip into the subway just in time.
The subway is so packed that she is barely in the train.
Nobody moves aside to give her some space.
The crowded train resists her efforts
to move deeper into the subway car.
Great!
That is all she needs.
"It is probably my karma for bumping into that old man on the stairs," she thinks.
"Now it's my turn."
Half of her big, red Prada bag is hanging out of the train.
The train doors close.
Most of the big, red handbag is caught outside of the doors.
As she turns around to struggle with the doors,
trying in vain to get them to open,
she sees the old man that she passed on the staircase.
He is on his hands and knees
at the foot of the stairs.
"Oh! my God!", she gasps outloud. "What have I done?"
She pushes again to seperate the doors:
a final attempt to rescue her handbag
and run to help the old man.
One last push and the doors reopen.
She clutches her bag to her chest
But her heels prevent her from moving quickly.
The doors open and close with such speed.
She is caught on the train,
unable to repair the damage she has done.
The train starts to move away.
Her last view is that of the old man struggling to get up.
Her bag is safe
but she feels like hell.
"I am a selfish monster", she concludes.
"When am I going to get my shit together?"
As she continues on her way to work,
she feels the weight of the world on her right shoulder.
And on her left one,
she feels the weight of her big, red Prada bag.
I really got into this writing exercise.
The possibilities are infinite.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
The Red Handbag - Creative Writing
Here is a little story I wrote last night.
I could not sleep so I started writing.
My story is in response to a paragraph written by a girlfriend of mine.
Here it goes....
The Red Handbag
The crowd descends the staircase in silence.
All that can be heard is the shuffle of sleepy feet.
Left-right-left
All are prisonners in the hell that is 9 to 5.
They all quicken their pace
as the vibration of the approaching train can be felt underfoot.
Everyone is in a hurry to arrive at their destination.
Being late means there is no time
to stop at Tim Horton's before work.
"I'll take a double-double, please."
An old man descends the stairs one at a time
on his way to the embarkment.
In his right hand he holds his cane
while his left hand grips onto the central bannister.
In his younger days he used to run marathons
but today he is going nowhere fast.
He is tired.
He is tired of life.
And some days he daydreams about when he will rejoin his beautiful Doris
in the sweet hereafter.
Behind the old man is a young woman in a hurry.
She is so young that she is in a hurry to get on with her life.
Reflexively she starts to sigh loudly in exasperation.
Her most prominent feature is her handbag.
It is big and red.
When she hears the sound of the train doors opening,
the young woman passes the old man.
In her haste she bangs into the old man with her big, red handbag.
There is no time to slow down.
Slowing down means that life,
like the train,
will leave her behind.
With little Geisha steps she moves towards the train doors.
Her heels are high enough to cause a sprain
should she take a misstep: to her beauty is about pain and sacrifice.
Despite the pain and the sacrifice and the high-heeled shoes,
she manages to slip into the subway just in time.
Destiny is on her side.
She will have time to stop at Starbucks
for her extra hot soy-latte.
The subway is so packed that she is barely in the train.
Nobody moves aside to give her some space.
The crowded train resists her efforts
to move deeper into the subway car.
Fuck!
Half of her big, red handbag is hanging out of the train.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
She knows that she cannot get off
and wait for the next train.
If she does her life will pass her by.
The train doors close.
Most of the big, red handbag is hanging outside the doors.
She feels close to tears.
She loves that big, red bag.
As she turns around to struggle with the doors,
trying in vain to get them to open,
she sees the old man that she passed on the staircase.
He is on his hands and knees
at the foot of the stairs.
Serves him right, she thinks, for being so slow.
She pushes again to seperate the doors:
a final attempt to rescue her handbag.
One last push and the doors reopen.
An invible hand pushes her off the train.
The doors close.
The train starts to move away.
Her bag is safe
and now
she has no choice but to wait for the next train.
Well, she thinks, might as well kill some time.
With little Geisha steps she moves towards the old man.
Well that is my post for today....
I could not sleep so I started writing.
My story is in response to a paragraph written by a girlfriend of mine.
Here it goes....
The Red Handbag
The crowd descends the staircase in silence.
All that can be heard is the shuffle of sleepy feet.
Left-right-left
All are prisonners in the hell that is 9 to 5.
They all quicken their pace
as the vibration of the approaching train can be felt underfoot.
Everyone is in a hurry to arrive at their destination.
Being late means there is no time
to stop at Tim Horton's before work.
"I'll take a double-double, please."
An old man descends the stairs one at a time
on his way to the embarkment.
In his right hand he holds his cane
while his left hand grips onto the central bannister.
In his younger days he used to run marathons
but today he is going nowhere fast.
He is tired.
He is tired of life.
And some days he daydreams about when he will rejoin his beautiful Doris
in the sweet hereafter.
Behind the old man is a young woman in a hurry.
She is so young that she is in a hurry to get on with her life.
Reflexively she starts to sigh loudly in exasperation.
Her most prominent feature is her handbag.
It is big and red.
When she hears the sound of the train doors opening,
the young woman passes the old man.
In her haste she bangs into the old man with her big, red handbag.
There is no time to slow down.
Slowing down means that life,
like the train,
will leave her behind.
With little Geisha steps she moves towards the train doors.
Her heels are high enough to cause a sprain
should she take a misstep: to her beauty is about pain and sacrifice.
Despite the pain and the sacrifice and the high-heeled shoes,
she manages to slip into the subway just in time.
Destiny is on her side.
She will have time to stop at Starbucks
for her extra hot soy-latte.
The subway is so packed that she is barely in the train.
Nobody moves aside to give her some space.
The crowded train resists her efforts
to move deeper into the subway car.
Fuck!
Half of her big, red handbag is hanging out of the train.
Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
She knows that she cannot get off
and wait for the next train.
If she does her life will pass her by.
The train doors close.
Most of the big, red handbag is hanging outside the doors.
She feels close to tears.
She loves that big, red bag.
As she turns around to struggle with the doors,
trying in vain to get them to open,
she sees the old man that she passed on the staircase.
He is on his hands and knees
at the foot of the stairs.
Serves him right, she thinks, for being so slow.
She pushes again to seperate the doors:
a final attempt to rescue her handbag.
One last push and the doors reopen.
An invible hand pushes her off the train.
The doors close.
The train starts to move away.
Her bag is safe
and now
she has no choice but to wait for the next train.
Well, she thinks, might as well kill some time.
With little Geisha steps she moves towards the old man.
Well that is my post for today....
Friday, August 12, 2011
Printed shelter magazines make me happy
what a gorgeous afternoon.
just doing some research on the net
and reading Canadian House&Home in printed medium.
i love that magazine.
i always find ideas to inspire me.
and i like holding the mag. in my hands, old school.
i get a real satisfaction from flipping the pages,touching the paper.
i keep a resource library from photos in different magazines.
i will always buy actual magazines
as opposed to netmags (sorry! trees)'cause they fill a creatve need
that is not satisfied by viewing things on my iPad.
i love my iPad.
but for Interior Design inspiration
i will always give priority to real magazines
well gotta go and walk Miko the dog.
just doing some research on the net
and reading Canadian House&Home in printed medium.
i love that magazine.
i always find ideas to inspire me.
and i like holding the mag. in my hands, old school.
i get a real satisfaction from flipping the pages,touching the paper.
i keep a resource library from photos in different magazines.
i will always buy actual magazines
as opposed to netmags (sorry! trees)'cause they fill a creatve need
that is not satisfied by viewing things on my iPad.
i love my iPad.
but for Interior Design inspiration
i will always give priority to real magazines
well gotta go and walk Miko the dog.
Looking for inspiration
i wrote an earlier posting today but it somehow got erased.
these things happen....
my intention for my blog was to use it to record
the way in which i use my creativity to resource my life.
in everyday life.
nothing monumental,
just the everyday workings of a life,
my life.
i am all about finding ways to resource myself.
just in the small things that i do everyday.
it took me years to want
serenity more than happiness or pleasure.
before i used to heavily pursue pleasure.
but now i like quiet moments.
by myself.
reading, writing, knitting,
sometimes cooking or other creative pursuits.
basically just puttering around.
and that is how i resource myself.
now.
i would like to bring even more creativity
into my life,
my everyday.
i believe that everyday creativity
(not just in the fine arts sense)
is the healthiest way to resource oneself.
well, i speak for myself.
so i guess i want to get creative
on ways to live life creatively.
and share it on my blog
with whomever stops in for a quick read.
all this is to say.....
i am a work in progress
and so too is my blog.
how do you get creative in your everyday life?
does anyone have any ideas to share?
these things happen....
my intention for my blog was to use it to record
the way in which i use my creativity to resource my life.
in everyday life.
nothing monumental,
just the everyday workings of a life,
my life.
i am all about finding ways to resource myself.
just in the small things that i do everyday.
it took me years to want
serenity more than happiness or pleasure.
before i used to heavily pursue pleasure.
but now i like quiet moments.
by myself.
reading, writing, knitting,
sometimes cooking or other creative pursuits.
basically just puttering around.
and that is how i resource myself.
now.
i would like to bring even more creativity
into my life,
my everyday.
i believe that everyday creativity
(not just in the fine arts sense)
is the healthiest way to resource oneself.
well, i speak for myself.
so i guess i want to get creative
on ways to live life creatively.
and share it on my blog
with whomever stops in for a quick read.
all this is to say.....
i am a work in progress
and so too is my blog.
how do you get creative in your everyday life?
does anyone have any ideas to share?
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