Is The Whole World Sleeping In?


Sundays have a particularly solitary quality. It might be because I’m an early riser, and when I’m padding around the neighbourhood with whichever dog happens to be in my life this week, thinking about coffee, and trying to guess how the weather will unfold, there is never anyone else around.
Not in my High Park haven. Not here in glorious Yorkville. Especially not in Paris, and certainly not at King and River street. Even the homeless were sleeping in.
I imagine people in their beds. Lovers enjoying the first few rays of sun, wound up and naked between crisp, white sheets. People who have partied too much, marinating in beer-scented sweat, with their heads shoved under a pillow to keep out the light, families with little ones who have piled in for an early morning snuggle before cartoons and French toast.
Me, I woke up in a borrowed bed to the urgent nudging of a cold, wet nose. I blinked, and the liquid brown eyes of a pretty blonde blinked back. A kiss. Sloppy. Then a paw, strong and insistent on my arm. Any dreams I would try to remember have now slipped away. I stretch and feel the empty space beside me, and wonder for a moment why I keep myself tucked away on one side of the bed when I have so much room to sprawl. Old habits…
I throw on a loose-fitting dress, and my glasses. Out we go for our morning constitutional. I’m very naked beneath the dress, but there’s nobody else to worry about. It’s just me and my always-smiling, sweet-smelling girl dog.
I’m confused today, and more than a little sad. Brain is fighting hard to come back, but we are vigilant. Heart is a bit sore, and has created an interesting reaction in throat. A tightness. Gut feels empty and a bit raw. It’s going to be another hot day, but I crave an over-sized, holy sweater, a cottage surrounded by trees, and a stack of good books.
Brain is our protector. We’re a little worried that we’ve sent her away now, because sometimes she’s right. There’s no going back, so we’ll have to rely on Gut, but sometimes Gut gets confused by Heart. Brain is always able to pick things apart to the point of annihilation, which every now and then is a good thing.
I bought it hook, line, and sinker. When something arrives in a whirlwind, it often spins off the same way, with the same velocity. If people seem like they are saying things out loud to hear what those words sound like when they dance in the world, it’s because that is exactly what they are doing.
If Brain were here, she would remind us that we had given up putting stock into words, and point out (gently) that we rely now on action and follow through. We’ve been that way for years.
A little bit of heartbreak is a set-back, but we have to dust off and get back into the game.
Today is Tiki day. Despite the encroaching rain, I’m taking out my Hawaiian dress, my fake hibiscus hair flower, and my red lipstick to once again promote and raise funds for the Burlesque Festival I’ve helped to organize. I will smile and flirt and hand out flyers, sell beer, invite people to come and celebrate with us, make conversation, weave in and out of crowds of happy gay people celebrating their gay-ness. I will flaunt my freckles, laugh like I mean it, and probably come home drunk.
First I will brunch with a lovely gal who makes me feel warm and happy all over.
Brunch is the greatest weekend pleasure. I will know that it’s time to invite Brain back home when I find the perfect brunch companion, who isn’t a sister friend, and who loves that ritual just as much as I do.
I always think of it as a sleepy, public celebration of the love that was made the night before. Look at us. Look at our rumpled hair and our sleepy eyes, and the way we can’t stop reaching across the table to touch each other a little bit. Look at how even though the sports (world, life) section of the paper is dividing us, you can still see the rays of love shooting from one to the other. After we eat your bacon, and drink your coffee, and listen to your kids squealing and screaming, we’re going home to get tangled in the sheets one more time before venturing forth into the world of weekend goodness.

I like my eggs over easy, and I don’t care who knows it.

Reading You Loud and Clear


I don’t need to have a functioning brain to understand what’s going on. Sometimes, things are clear enough that a person who is only functioning with the heart can sort it all out.
People, it’s important to take your cues off those around you, and respond accordingly, remembering always that we teach people how to treat us.

If I re-assess my summer goals, they look something like this:

1. Have fun
2. Refuel the love tank
3. Rediscover “me” time
4. Build a beautiful home

I need to remember rule number one. If it feels bad, slap some aloe vera on it. If that doesn’t work, cover up and head indoors. Easy as pie.

When I was a little girl, I used to spend hours listening to music, sprawled out on a pile of cushions, with my dad’s giant headphones on. I ordered a futon today for a quirky little corner in the Fortress which will now become my nap/reading/music/guest nook. I’m going to pile it with pillows and make it a very appealing place to curl up for an afternoon nap, because the space is otherwise un-usable.

Fortress of Solitude Rule #2: Music is key

To survive the next week I’m going to need some twine, garbage bags, cold beer, flowers to plant, friends to drop in, Thai take-out, and a lot of spare time. By this time next week, we’re drinking on my terrace.

This evening was hard because I was craving the domestic. It would have been perfect to curl up on the couch with someone I love, a cold beer, some home-made popcorn, and a stack of movies.

I’ll get there again. All in good time.

Notice of Eviction


Ok brain. Thank you for kicking in at 12:00 am. That was pretty funny, to take an entire day off, and then keep me up all night, and have me in knots all day today.
I pulled down a post because you can’t decide whether or not it was too personal. I think the point of the blog is to not edit like that, brain.
I really feel like you’re screwing things up for me right now. Heart and gut are supposed to be doing all the work these days, and you keep sticking your brainy nose in, and confusing everything. And for an organ that’s supposed to be so smart, I really feel like you’re making some stupid decisions. In fact, I don’t think you should be making any decisions at all right now, unless they are completely inane and rudimentary. We had an agreement that after those big, life-altering decisions that led us here, and to Paris, you would just go on sabbatical, and let us enjoy this summer of freedom. Heart, gut, and I were really looking forward to fueling up the love tank, and enjoying summer dresses and pretty sandals.
Now we have to take action. We’re evicting you. We realize that this could lead to big trouble for the rest of us (especially liver, and well, let’s face it any of those gals below the waist) but we don’t care. We were doing you a favour by taking charge while you kicked back and relaxed, but you’re so damn stubborn! The rest of us have agreed to let you come back in the fall to assess any progress or damage we’ve made over the next couple of months, but for now you’ll have to settle for just watching. We know how hard that will be for you.
While any upcoming job interviews or mathematical equations will surely be a challenge, we are particularly enthusiastic about allowing tongue and nose make all of the decisions about food for the summer, because they don’t care how big ass is, AND YES WE REALIZE NOSE ISN’T AN ORGAN! We’re also looking forward to having skin, eyes, and soul (yes, that’s right, soul) take over whipping the apartment into shape.
And get this – skin is teaming up with uterus to make any and all dating decisions.
Now, now. Screaming won’t change our mind.

Men at Work Overhead


A saucy young window washer repelled off the side of my building today and dropped down in front of me like Spiderman.
“Hmmmm….” I thought. “This is an interesting way to start the day – men raining down from the sky with a wink and a nod.”
That was when I decided to shut off my brain for the entire day. It’s been working incredibly well. Even when I found out my contractor hasn’t been in the apartment all week, and not a single thing has been done. I began to fret momentarily, but then reminded myself that my brain was off, and therefore I couldn’t worry or get anxious about the renovations that just aren’t happening.
I toured around the city today with Megan in tow. Megan is my cousin’s beautiful yellow lab puppy, and she and I are hanging out this week in her lovely Yorkville condo while her dads are in Scotland. We went to meetings and ran work errands, and it was lovely and hot. Everyone wanted to say hello to her. She’s incredibly cute.
After I dropped her off, I popped by the office, and decided to walk because it was so lovely and steamy outside. I’ve been making a habit of smiling as much as I can to people on the street. I’ve decided to officially launch a “Gracious Living” movement, whereby I embrace nostalgia and a slower pace, and really try to feel connected with people. I’m generally pretty good at this, but I want to encourage others to try it too.
So, I’m walking, and smiling, and stopping in the flower markets, and strangers are striking up conversation, and I’m exchanging pleasantries, and helping them pick out bouquets for their wives. I got an iced coffee from a great little place on Dupont called Ezra’s Pound, where the lovely Max gave me the scoop on the very handsome Ezra, who is apparently in Tofino, and apparently common-law with kids. I hit Shopper’s Drug Mart and picked out a delightful shade of orange polish that will give me the Popsicle Toes I’ve been craving. Now I’m going to take a nap, because I’ve spent a couple of hours doing actual work, but nothing that required my brain.
I may try to carry this through the weekend.
I wanted to buy new peonies because the beautiful ones my aunt left for me from her garden are starting to wilt, but they were $20 a bouquet! They really are so exquisite though.
The Fortress of Solitude will always have fresh flowers. That is the first rule. Hmmm…if my brain weren’t shut off, I might take this moment to think up a list of fun rules for the Fortress. Maybe some more will pop into my head while I’m napping.

Tonight I’m busting out that new lilac sun dress. Look out Yorkville. It’s a simple, sunny day here in Schnooville!

Fortress of Solitude


I think Superman was on to something.

Today, I feel that maybe it’s a bad idea for me to be dating anyone. After recently moving away from so much hurt, it’s still so close to the surface, and I can feel my old sensitivities being irritated all the time. For four years, I was in hot pursuit. I was adoring, attentive, I lavished love, and support, and so much care, and in turn spent much of my time waiting, and yearning, and wanting. I felt invisible, unwanted, unattractive, and largely unhappy. Every aspect of our relationship was on his terms so much of the time; when we went out, when we behaved like a couple, when we had sex. I felt I was always begging him to put down his work, or his emotional walls and live in the world with me. Mostly I felt really, really lonely which is a very strange way to feel when you are living with someone. I couldn’t wait or want anymore, and so that was it.
If I’m going to put my toes in the water of love right now it has to be very sweet, and perhaps I just need too much…maybe that water is just too deep while I still feel like a sinker.
When I love, that person becomes the centre of the universe for me. Everything in my life takes a backseat, and I think I’m realizing now that this is exactly what I’ve been doing wrong. Fine. I can get my head around that.
But you know, if I’m going to feel like loving you, I want your time, and your attention. I want to really be adored this time. I’m good for it. I’ll give it back, I swear, but I just don’t want to ever have to fight for it again. I just can’t do it.
If I’m going to plant a seed, it needs to be watered and fed this time. I can’t make something grow in a drought. I tried to make that happen. It’s a choking, tragic exercise in horticulture.
So, here’s what I’m going to do…
My crazy apartment will slowly become my fortress of solitude. I will build it full of the wisdom of my ancestors, treasured memories from my home planet, beautiful light-catching objects, and clean, crisp lines. Every now and again I may fly in a Lois Lane, to catch a glimpse of what my innermost world looks like, but I will accept and understand with a super-sized heart like this, a normal relationship might not be in the stars.