I gotta tell you, I don't really feel like writing in this here blog right now. And yet here I am. I'll just lay it down quick-like.
I went to Victory Square for the Remembrance Day ceremonies. Very moving. Bugles and bagpipes make me weep at the best of times. Throw in thousands of young dead soldiers, still dapper veterans and a couple of moments of silence and I'm an emotional mess. In grade school and highschool I used to play the Last Post in assembly every Remembrance Day. Very nerve-wracking and with the whole touching ceremony-type things going on, it was always a major challenge for me. Yes, I know - just like the young men and women who fought for our country - I, too, suffered. Nauseating, yes. Anyway, it was a lovely cold and foggy morning and I'm so glad I went.
I spent the rest of the day trying to keep myself properly distracted - something that is becoming more and more important in order to keep my threadbare sanity intact. I had the fantasy of finding a pair of boots. This city has the shittiest, most dated footwear...ever. Just fucking awful - unless, - yes, here we go again - you can spring for a set of Fluevogs. And even then, still not curling my toes. I found a pair I didn't mind so much at the old Winners. But I was being stalked by this really weird creepy fellow who followed me into the store. Seriously disturbing. So I abandoned the boot hunting.
I tried on some party wear for Saturday night. Scooped up a nifty little tank-top jobby. Tried on fantastic tweedish pants, but put them back as they were just too bloody expensive. So, I have this foxy little top and no bottoms. I can always resort to going braless and slapping on a coat of lipgloss. Add many glasses of wine and presto mundo, belle of the ball anyone? Right, I don't buy it my ownself.
I need to do dishes. Sense a nasty sliver of depression wiggling in. My job to nip it in the bud - ain't nobody gonna do it for me. Gross. "I want my mommy" talk is so very unappealing. But wow, just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in my new fancy top and I don't mind saying, "lookin' good!" Oh wait, just caught another reality glimpse. I must go find some chocolate.
Okay, have I left out any poor-me-thirty-something-years-old-woman cliches? Loneliness, body image issues, shoes, housework, depression, chocolate...yep, I think I'm good. 'Night.
Kisses on your lipses.
I went to Victory Square for the Remembrance Day ceremonies. Very moving. Bugles and bagpipes make me weep at the best of times. Throw in thousands of young dead soldiers, still dapper veterans and a couple of moments of silence and I'm an emotional mess. In grade school and highschool I used to play the Last Post in assembly every Remembrance Day. Very nerve-wracking and with the whole touching ceremony-type things going on, it was always a major challenge for me. Yes, I know - just like the young men and women who fought for our country - I, too, suffered. Nauseating, yes. Anyway, it was a lovely cold and foggy morning and I'm so glad I went.
I spent the rest of the day trying to keep myself properly distracted - something that is becoming more and more important in order to keep my threadbare sanity intact. I had the fantasy of finding a pair of boots. This city has the shittiest, most dated footwear...ever. Just fucking awful - unless, - yes, here we go again - you can spring for a set of Fluevogs. And even then, still not curling my toes. I found a pair I didn't mind so much at the old Winners. But I was being stalked by this really weird creepy fellow who followed me into the store. Seriously disturbing. So I abandoned the boot hunting.
I tried on some party wear for Saturday night. Scooped up a nifty little tank-top jobby. Tried on fantastic tweedish pants, but put them back as they were just too bloody expensive. So, I have this foxy little top and no bottoms. I can always resort to going braless and slapping on a coat of lipgloss. Add many glasses of wine and presto mundo, belle of the ball anyone? Right, I don't buy it my ownself.
I need to do dishes. Sense a nasty sliver of depression wiggling in. My job to nip it in the bud - ain't nobody gonna do it for me. Gross. "I want my mommy" talk is so very unappealing. But wow, just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in my new fancy top and I don't mind saying, "lookin' good!" Oh wait, just caught another reality glimpse. I must go find some chocolate.
Okay, have I left out any poor-me-thirty-something-years-old-woman cliches? Loneliness, body image issues, shoes, housework, depression, chocolate...yep, I think I'm good. 'Night.
Kisses on your lipses.
posted by ... at 9:36 PM
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