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Showing posts from December, 2005

Yé!

  
  

Fuck I'm glad this one's over with.


  
  

Besoin: urge

  
  

Besoin: urge
all day
really
roughdirtyhardoutofbreathshakes kinda thing
the sea
the sun
sweat
sand
heat
handsandtonguesandmouths
j'ai besoinfaimenvie
je désireveuxriendemanderjusteprendre
just take me
i want to givetakehave you all over me
  
  

St-Jean-Baptiste 1976

  
  
St-Jean-Baptiste here in Québec is like the 4th of July in the US or the 14th in France. Except that only us in the province celebrate it, the rest of the country has the 1st of July. Anyways, long story, boring, bottom line is St-Jean-Baptiste is huge.

1976 was the year my parents separated. I was 5. Don't remember the exact date but school hadn't started yet, so it must've been in August. And that night of June 24th 1976 probably had a bit to do with it.

It was going to be a huge party at the mountain, with great bands, tens of thousands of people... We got there my mom, dad and I by car, met up with their friends and started up the mountain to get to the park. Party's on the way, sun is setting down. I remember topless girls, hairy guys with leather hats and indian sandals. I remember the usual smell of pot, hash and beedees (indian cigarettes). I could tell the difference already then. I vaguely remember music, but I can't recall if it was from the show or just guys around us with guitars and tam tams.

It's getting late, I need to pee. Badly. My mom is already stoned, but my dad insists she goes with me (he's gone as well anyway). So we set out, with another girl (16 y.o. babysitter/mom's friend who died of an heroin overdose at 19) to the restrooms (port-a-potty yessssss). We get there, get in line. I get in, do my thing, get out. L. goes in then out and heads back to the gang. My mom goes in, then out, then we head back.

Back to where? We can't find them! There are thousands of people sprawled on the grass. I guess my mother didn't look at where we were sitting before leaving, you know, to mark a spot or something... We're lost! In an ocean of hippies, looking for a bunch of hippies, a hippy mom and her kid. She was getting frantic, I was trailing behind, looking everywhere for a familiar face. No luck.

So the only thing she could come up with was to head down the mountain, get a cab to her parents' apartment and wait for my dad to come and get us (we lived up north at least 100 miles from there). We get down, a good 30 minutes walk I'm guessing. My mom looks into her purse... No cash! Not a fucking penny. We need money to get to my grand-parents, so my mom asks me to fucking sing! Sing for the strangers, I'll ask for money... Ah shit, even at 5 I knew what embarrassment felt like. I don't know how long it lasted, I burned that from my brain. We finally got some money, flagged a cab. We arrived at her parents, middle of the night... They took us in, no questions, as usual.

It's very early in the morning, door bell rings... Dad is here! So pissed he can't even talk. (to this day I haven't asked him where he spent the night that time...) It turns out, my mom had the car keys in her purse... Could've, should've, shouts and screams. The ride home was another nightmare.

I never really got over that one. It still bothers me, still hurts me, I still see myself singing on the sidewalk. I can't really see my mother's face, I don't think I looked at her much that night.

The only picture I have of June 24th 1976... She had half the party on her lap.

  
  

The pile

  
  

Writing about my childhood really brought back a lot of stuff... Things I had buried deep under newer stuff, stuff I can deal with.


I'm thinking about putting it down here. But I don't know if I want to let it surface, or just let it hover for a while, until it goes back under the pile of shit taking most of the space in my head right now.

Nice parallel with the wall.

I'm getting confused.
  
  

Sex, death and the wall.

  
  
Sometimes, not every time but often enough, when I go to a funeral home, I get vaguely aroused. I feel so alive, so vibrant, so liquid. If not right in there, then later. The room is so grey, the gloom so overbearing, the people so sad. There's this part of me that wants to defy death, to say fuck you, you ain't got nothin' on me.

Death is on my mind this time of year, and this year of course was something extraordinary. I know now that when I cry I do so because of my loss, because of the presence that is not there anymore. The person is gone, nothing I can do about it. I cry over my own inability to deal with the void. But I also know that by thinking about the ones that are gone, I keep them alive, I keep them in my heart.

I say cry, but they're silent tears. I say cry, but they rarely get out. Rarely roll down my cheeks. My lack of empathy, my lack of interest in others, my avoidance of situations where feelings might get out of hand. That's a burden, and a blessing. So much shit I dealt with as a kid, so many times I closed my eyes on situations I should not have gone through as a child.

In our house: junkies, thieves, dealers, dancers (hookers most likely, didn't really question this), used syringes, empty bottles, overflowing ashtrays, loud music at 4 in the morning, people sleeping or having sex in the living room at all hours of the day, no food in the fridge, mom's weekly new boyfriends (and sometimes babysitters).

Me then: serving as DJ starting at 6 or 7 y.o., walking over bodies to get to the bathroom, having breakfast at the neighbour's, stealing change in unconscious people's pockets, spending weekends at my aunts', grand mother's (maternal and paternal) and sometimes at my dad's (when he was not in jail), avoiding touchy-feely guests (surprising how many men are interested in prepubescent girls), waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of the unhooked phone, finding my "babysitter" stoned out of her mind, asleep, drooling, I couldn't wake her up, I put down the phone and went back to bed (I was 5). I could go on, but it serves no purpose.

Me now: Cold sometimes, unaffected, indifferent. I don't want to feel too much, don't want things to get to me. A fucking wall, at which I'm clawing now. I'm not sure I want to tear it down, not sure how much I want to let in.

But I've felt so much in the last few months. I've felt. Hurt, loneliness, depression, hope, love, lust, friendship. I felt them each separately, individually, not in a mush of self absorption, not like usual, brushing it off as self pity. There is no such thing as too much awareness, I understand that now.

I've felt. I want to feel more. I can handle it, now.
  
  

À fête du mort

  
  


3 heures plus tard, quand tout l'monde fût ben gris

J'me mis encore à s'mer la zizanie
Je pognai l'cul des grosses matantes
Du spanish fly dans' crème de menthe
À'fête du mort, y avait jusse moé d'pas triste

Les pénis, les fesses, les vagins
S'exitèrent en un tour de main
Ce fut un bordel merveilleux
J'emmenai la veuve à'sauvette
Tirer une pipe dans les toilettes
À la mémoire... à la mémoire?
À la SANTÉ du vieux

À'fête du mort y avait jusse moé d'pas triste...
-Plume Latraverse

...............................................................

Y a des fois où je m'demande pourquoi je n'arrive pas à être triste pour les autres. Je peux être fâchée, en crisse, enragée même, envers quelqu'un. Éprouver de l'amour, de l'amitié, de la sympathie à la limite (très limite).


La misère des autres m'emmerde, j'en ai rien à foutre. Ça m'empêche pas d'avoir une conscience sociale, de donner aux pauvres, d'aider les vieux au centre d'achat, whatever. Mais fondamentalement, les problèmes des autres, ça ne me fait pas pleurer.

La mort c'est certain, c'est différent. La mort dans tous ses états, subite, lente, prématurée, anticipée. Celle de ma mère, que j'ai attendue en cachette, celle de ma grand-mère, que j'ai mal acceptée malgré son âge.

Maintenant celle de parents proches, de personnes aimées, jeunes. Une mère de famille, frappée par un cancer de merde, un père de famille, qui n'a jamais rouvert les yeux au matin. Un frère, une soeur.

La mort, qui chie sur noel. La mort qui nous fait un gros finger.

Et pourtant... Je vais me rendre au salon demain. Je vais embrasser et serrer dans mes bras ces 9 frères et soeurs, ces enfants, ce mari. Je vais compatir, leur offir des kleenex, les laisser pleurer sur mon épaule. Et je vais repartir chez moi, le linge un peu fripé, un peu humide. L'odeur écoeurante du salon impreignée dans mes cheveux. Mon maquillage aura même pas coulé.

J'm'excuse.
  
  

So sad

  
  

Not the Christmas anyone expected...


On the 22nd we learned that my sister in law's brother died in his sleep the previous night. He was in his early 40's, with 2 kids. She had lost another brother 4 years ago. She is now an only child... Both parents are still alive.

This year it was her turn to have us over for the Christmas dinner. She decided she did not want to cancel and still have a party. And it was a great idea. Everyone had a great time, we drank a lot (me too, a big fucking lot), did karaoke, word games, the food was great, we hugged a lot, cried, laughed, said I love you... L. did a wonderful santa for the kids.

That was last night. Before leaving for the party I called my dad to ask what time he wanted us to be there tonight for dinner. He said well, we might have a change of plans... My step mom's sister has been in the hospital for a few weeks now, terminal cancer. And S. was there all night (23 to 24th). The doctors told the family she only had a few hours left.

This morning I called again, and my father told me S.'s sister had died yesterday. They are 10 brothers and sisters in her family, both parents are dead (of cancer). They were all there with their sister when she passed. I spoke with S. a little bit, we cried together, and I tried to comfort her as best as I could.

So we came back here. It's been a very strange Christmas. I wasn't looking forward to it, yet it probably was one of the best party we've ever had.

Maybe we were celebrating life.

  
  

Joyeux Christmas! Merry Noël!

  
  


It's here again...

Let's have some goddamn fun.
Have a good time with the ones you love :)


Encore une fois, encore une année...
Ayons du fun cibole.
Passez un bon moment avec ceux et celles que vous aimez :)


  
  

Invisible soon

  
  

I'm fading

Away, retiring
Drawing back
Forgetting how to feel
Letting go of the gloom
Yet not letting in the light

I'm fading
Unlike the memories
Unlike your touch
Unlike your smell
Unlike your taste

I'm fading
But not forgetting
How good it can feel
How deep it can get
How big it is

I'm fading
Into the winter
Into the colors gone
Away from the presence
Into the nothingness of the cold

Receding, withdrawing
Not erased yet
Just fading
Away

  
  

In my ears

  
  

Tonight I took a long walk, it was snowing somewhat heavily, big fat flakes, beautiful.


In my ears "and up above, aliens hover, making home movies for the folks back home" and I was thinking, have I become a spectator of my own life?

In my ears "let it flow like a mud slide when I get on I like to ride and Glide I’ve got depth of perception in my text y’all I get props at my Mention ’cause I vex y’all so what’cha want" What is it that I want? What am I looking for here?

In my ears "A sickened mind and spirit, The mirror tells me lies, Could I mistake myself for someone, Who lives behind my eyes?" Is it really me here, or just a few layers that needed to be shed?

In my ears "In this theater that I call my soul, I always play the starring role" Center stage. Look at me, look at how miserable I am, look at how sad my situation is, look at meeeeee, hello????? I'm here, over here, hey, look here!

Strangely, I'm in a good mood tonight.

  
  

Pain in the blog

  
  

A funny thing happened. I started to write here because something was missing, things were changing, events were definately not happening. And I was wondering where my love for writing had gone. Slowly it came to me, that torrent of words, of ideas, of emotions, feelings, thoughts, pains. Now I just can't stop. Can't hold anything inside.


In the few months I've been here, I've browsed other peoples spaces, read their thoughts, ideas, stories, poems. Interacted with a few, to different degrees. Some want to be writers, some are. Some, like me, just need a place to express their feelings, no matter how dark. Others are true artists, social commentators, spectators.

It's a wonderful experience so far. I belong wherever I go. And every one belongs here. I like to leave comments, I like it when people leave comments here. I try not to think about the audience when I write though. That's a big trap. I'm not here because I want to be a writer when I grow up. I'm here for everything else.

Anyways, here's Maddox's take on blogs, enjoy!: If these words were people, I would embrace their genocide.

  
  

Misère matinale en stéréo

  
  


Nuovo à la SRC
Martineau au 98.5...
Ciboire que j'suis contente de tomber en vacances.


  
  

Cheers

  
  

Sometimes you want to go where everybody knows your name.


So he goes.

So I'm here, chain smoking, reading, surfing, watching tv, wishing I was stoned, wishing I was drunk, wishing I was rich, wishing I was somewhere else, wishing I'd get rid of that fucking pain in my stomach.

I make up my mind to be happy, jolly, merry, then I fall.

But.

I had this dream last night. I can't remember most of it. There was a lot of people I knew, some I didn't. There was a lot of movement, of walking around, running. There was some sexual tension, some desire, some lust. I have no clue who was involved. I don't even know if I was.

But I woke up around 2.30am with a feeling of peace and well being. I thought "Yeah, this is it! This feels good! Everything will be all right!" and went right back to sleep. The feeling lingered this morning. Until mid afternoon. I was just feeling good.

I wish I remembered my dream.

  
  

Vacuum

  
  

"Qu'est-ce que t'aimes?"

"Je l'sais pas... Je l'sais pas."

C'est triste. Mais des fois je l'sais. Des fois c'est tellement clair que ça fait mal juste d'y penser. D'autres fois c'est le vide. C'est un gros crisse de vide. C'est pas parce qu'il n'y a rien. Ça s'peut pas. C'est la tempête. C'est comme quand le vent pousse la neige, ça fait des dunes, ça fait des trous. J'escalade une dune, je déboule en bas. Je me relève et je recommence.

C'est en haut, c'est là, je l'sais. J'y arrive. Je le vois. C'est pas juste des souvenirs. Si c'était juste des souvenirs, je ne me donnerais même pas la peine de grimper à nouveau. Je veux qu'il y ait d'autres teintes de rose dans le ciel quand le soleil se couche, je veux que la lune soit pleine à tous les soirs. Je veux voir des nuages aux formes impossibles, des étoiles tellement brillantes que ça fait mal aux yeux.

Je veux surtout arrêter de me dire que plus tard ça va aller mieux, que plus tard tout va être correct, que plus tard tout va s'arranger. Je veux que ce soit vrai. Que du haut de la dernière dune que j'ai gravi je puisse voir la vérité.

C'est encore la tempête. Elle a tout poussé d'un bord. Mais je lui fait face. Je ne lui tourne pas le dos. Qu'a mange d'la marde la tempête, je l'emmerde.

Pose-moi donc la question encore une fois pour voir.

  
  

One Slip

  
  

I will, I will she sighed to my request
And then she tossed her mane while my resolve was put to the test
Then drowned in desire, our souls on fire
I lead the way to the funeral pyre
And without a thought of the consequence
I gave in to my decadence
-D. Gilmour

Decadence... what a lovely word. Nothing proper these days, nothing appropriate pleases me. I want depravity, self indulgence. I don't want to please anyone. I want to be pleased.

  
  

Your eyes

  
  



All over my words
Searching
All over my thoughts
Thinking you understand
Thinking it's about you
Thinking it's about him
All over my soul
Looking for the truth
All over my sins
All over your faults
All over my words
My words
Just words

Your eyes
Looking at my heart
Spying on my thoughts
Watching me breathe
Was I gasping here?
Was I panting there?
Do you see my craving?

Your eyes
Do they see?
Do they see my blood?
Do they see me getting closer?
Do they see me closing the door?

Look away now
For your eyes may burn
For your sight may be damaged
For you will never see me like I was
For I am not here anymore


  
  

I think

  
  

I may be losing my mind

(not really)
(edited a little later, just to clarify... )
  
  

Motion Picture Soundtrack

  
  

Red wine and sleeping pills

Help me get back to your arms
Cheap sex and sad films
Help me get back where I belong
I think you're crazy, maybe
I think you're crazy, maybe
Stop sending letters
Letters always get burned
It's not like the movies
They fed us on little white lies
I think you're crazy, maybe
I think you're crazy, maybe
I will see you in the next life
-Radiohead




In the next life... Dashiell Hammett?


  
  

J'ai fait le tour

  
  

J'ai souvent cette impression. Que j'ai fait le tour. Une situation, un emploi, une personne, une émotion. Je l'sais. J'ai saisi. Je vais au vidéo, je regarde le boîtier, j'ai vu le film. J'écoute une toune, j'ai entendu l'album. J'ai une conversation, les mots sont vieux et usés et je sais exactement où les mettre, comment les placer dans mes phrases. Un déjà-vu qui m'écoeure, un désintéressement total. Parce que j'ai fait le tour.


Un moment donné, au cours d'une conversation on me dit "J'ai fait le tour". Fuck. C'est plus pareil dans la bouche d'un autre. C'est pire. C'est le reflet du vide. Du manque. Je regarde mon abîme, pis j'me dit, c'est pas vrai. Ça peut pas être juste ça.

"Dans le fond, tout ce qu'il y a, c'est les enfants". Tu n'as jamais fait le tour avec les enfants. C'est toute une vie qui s'écrit devant toi. C'est pour ça? Toute une vie à écrire, toute une autre vie à oublier. À partager? J'ai peur de cet abandon de soi.

On se donne entièrement à ses enfants, ou on se consacre à son nombril? Qu'est-ce que ça donne de lire, de voir des films, de se cultiver, d'avoir des amis, de manger un bon repas, d'avoir une vie spirituelle, de baiser, de fumer, de boire un bon vin, de rigoler d'une bonne blague, de s'engager socialement, de voyager? Qu'est-ce que ça donne tous ces plaisirs?

L'équilibre.

Des vies à écrire, des vies à unir.


  
  

Pas toujours... Mais souvent...

  
  

Reiser
  
  

How to get there

  
  


Sometimes I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can't help but ask myself how much I’ll let the fear take the wheel and steer
It’s driven me before, it seems to have a vague haunting mass appeal
Lately I’m beginning to find that I should be the one behind the wheel
-Incubus (don't have the album, can't find who wrote the lyrics... sorry)

Well, yeah, grabbing the wheel is a start. Getting rid of the fear. The appeal is in the comfort. In wearing your seatbelt. In making full stops. In never letting that needle get lower than half. I rode on fumes. Ran some red lights. I just need to get a better hold on the wheel.

  
  

Of anticipation and aftershock

  
  
Anticipation, expectations, quake, aftershocks.
Anticipation, all there is to it. It's all there still.
Expectations, promises, deceptions, hopes, promises again.
Quake, a little tight. Still, earth shattering, feeding, ending the need, prolonging the longing.
Aftershocks, patience, smile, happy, empty, when? now, later, never, who knows.
A little tight.
A little dirty.
A little.
Anticipation... Everything it should be was.
Expectations... Too many, not enough, the hunger gives.
Quake... In the past, present.
Aftershock... In the future.
Again? now, later, never.
  
  

Goddess of war

  
  
Not quite... But I'm in the temple of the Oracle, so I'm doing pretty good. And Kratos is damn sexy.

.......................................................

What defines a relationship after so many years? Besides comfort, besides habit, besides security. There has to be love. There has to be patience, acceptance, trust, understanding. But these things mean some kind of self sacrifice. Does self sacrifice mean love? What makes us think that taking the backseat is love. Then again, why is it not? Happiness can be found in self awareness, yes. Emancipation? Ok.

I'm not happy. It's not his fault. Not at this point. It's mine only. I have chosen to become who I am. I have chosen the paths at the crossroads. I have made the decisions. Not anybody else. So if I'm unhappy, it can only be my fault. It is my burden. My war.

I can deal with this. Nothing has changed, nothing of importance, in the last few years. Nothing in our foundations. Nothing. I've been able to take it, I've even embraced it at times. I've taken the wrong paths at times. It is now up to me to find my way. If it could become what it is now, there is no reason why I can't make it become something better.

I'm taking on a challenge. Not out of fear of being alone. Not out of pity. Not out of obligation. Out of love. To end the war within myself. Beware, the Goddess has arrived.

I should stop playing that game.
  
  

A very momentary lapse of reason

  
  

Fuck the lighter side.


I'm doing fine, but. I can't put my finger on it. We had this very open, very honest conversation. That was supposed to take care of everything, put things in perspective. Give us a chance for change, for improvement.

Ok, fine, we had the talk. So why do I feel unsettled? Is it because I thought it would change instantly? Because it wasn't really what I wanted to hear? Because I, I, I, for fuck's sake. Yes, I. Not you, not us, just fucking I.

Obviously he's not the only one with problems. And that's probably what struck me that night. Shit, I really did not want to hear this. Actually it never came out. I just realized it while we were talking. I have some serious issues. I need to grow up.

Christmas tree: up
Decorations: up
Anxiety: through the fucking roof
Coworker whistling Jingle Bells: dead
Me: feeling much better.



Merci du link Pat :)
  
  

No content

  
  
It will take me sometime to recover from the events of the weekend. Sometime to be able to write about how I feel about everything. Lots of words, lots of feelings. Everything's good, just a bit overwhelming.

So I'll be on the lighter side for a few days.

I discovered God Of War today. What a great game. I can't stop playing. I love to kill the minautors with my double swinging blades (whatever they're called I don't care, they fucking KILL). Also rented Donnie Darko and The Score.

I spent my birthday crashed on the couch ripping monsters apart and smoking cigarettes. I'd say it was near perfect.
  
  

35

  
  
C'est mon âge depuis minuit. Depuis minuit ma vie à pris un nouveau souffle. De belles possibilités. Une shot au bonheur. On a décidé de se donner une chance. Depuis minuit, je dors mieux.

Faut quand même décorer l'crisse de sapin.
  
  

hiatus

  
  
We need to talk... I hope I'll be back. When everything has been said.
  
  

La voix

  
  
Elle est apparue au milieu d'une phrase, au centre d'un mot, juste avant une inspiration. Et puis mon nom. Et puis mes mots. Et mon coeur s'est emballé, mes yeux se sont mouillés, ma respiration s'est arrêtée... un peu.

Elle a redonné à ces mots la vie qui m'avait échappée lorsque je les ai écrits. Elle a mis en symphonie la confusion qui hantait chaque phrase. Elle a fait de ces paragraphes des chapitres de ma vie. Elle a mis un visage sur chaque sentiment que j'essayais d'identifier. Elle m'a dit que tout était vrai. Elle m'a aidé à ne jamais oublier.

Merci Pat.
  
  

Les mensonges

  
  

C'est du poulet. Ça f'ra pas mal. Tu sentiras rien. Je l'ai vu ce film. Je l'ai lu ce livre. Oui j'aime ça c'te toune là. Mmmm c'est bon ça, qu'est-ce que t'as mis là dedans? Non merci, j'ai pas faim. Ça va très bien et toi? Rien de neuf. J'ai envie de toi. Oui ça me tente. J'ai hâte. Je vais t'attendre. Je vais t'appeler. Ça me fait plaisir. Je suis heureuse pour toi. Tu as raison. Ça ne me dérange pas du tout. Je serai là.


J'prend l'après-midi, je m'en vais magasiner.


  
  

Should

  
  
I should be in a better mood. I should be thankful my kids are as healthy and bright as they are. I should give more love. I should stop whining and do something about everything. I should stop using the words murder, kill, shit, fuck, asshole, motherfucker, stupid, ignorant, bitch... so much. Although I did come up with a few imaginative combinations today.

I should let go, open up, smile, feel, enjoy.

I should shut up. I should find a doctor that would be willing to rip my uterus out and throw it far, far away. I should invent a weapon against premenstrual syndrome and kill it slowly and deliciously.
  
  

I went down to the crossroads

  
  
Did fall down on my knees, but did not ask the lord for mercy. Just wondered how the fuck I ended up here. I mean, I remember most of it. But there's this blur, like the moment between day and night when the lights are not on yet, but the sun is gone. I'd say a year... Maybe two. Lost. Lost because I have no recollection of living. No memories of specific moments, happy or sad. No feelings either. A great acheivement our house is. A monster house. A monster of a prison, where I cannot find myself. Where I'm lost, where my voice has disapeared, where I have faded.

Then one day, one night, one minute, I don't know, I was crying. And I was here, I was alive, I was still me. I was crying for the first time over myself. I was crying over me, whom I thought I had lost forever. But I've found myself again. But so much pain. But now what? I'm at the crossroads, and no lord will give me mercy, for I will not ask. I will get it myself thank you very much.
  
  

A new soundtrack

  
  
In order to remain sane and happy for the holifuckindays I will try to play music that makes me feel good, and not too blue or agressive... hummm not easy, but here's my very tentative list of things I should play more often to keep me from murdering someone to the rythm of Winter Wonderland.

The White Stripes-Get behind me Satan
Beck-Sea Change
Led Zep-Houses of the Holy
Billie Holiday-All or nothing at all
Koko Taylor-Force of Nature
Stevie Ray Vaughan-Greatest Hits
System of a down-Hypnotize (fuck it, can't help myself)
Robert Charlebois-Québec Love
AC/DC-Dirty deeds done dirt Cheap
Depeche Mode-Violator
Nirvana-In Utero
The Black Crowes-The southern harmony and musical Companion
Violent Femmes-Viva Wisconsin
Oasis-(What's the story) Morning Glory?
The Beatles-Magical Mystery Tour

That should keep me happy for a while. Happy I said. So no Radiohead, no Metallica, no Rage Against the Machine, no Bush, no Matthew Good, no Tom Waits (or as little as possible)...

I will try and squeeze in some Elvis, James Brown, K.C., Sly, Curtis, Isaac, Marvin and Tom Jones.

I'm feeling a light spring in my step...
  
  

La robe

  
  
Je suis bien fière de moi. J'étais vraiment belle hier soir... en tout cas, en début de soirée. Ça s'est gâté vers la deuxième bouteille de rouge cheap servie avec le carré d'agneau aux champigons en canne. J'ai dansé un genre de merengue avec un gars de la cour et un genre de cha cha avec le concierge. Je dis genre parce que je ne sais danser ni un ni l'autre. J'ai cruisé le fils du président pendant que mon chum était aux toilettes. Il a eu la bonne idée de s'abstenir de sniffer, bravo. Je suis fière de moi parce que depuis le party de l'an passé, j'ai perdu beaucoup de poids. 35 livres pour être exacte. Je n'avais pas vraiment de problème avec mon image, mais ma santé n'allait pas du tout. Mais après m'être vue dans cette robe là, j'ai réalisé que je pouvais être un méchant pétard! (qui ramolli... ça fait deux mois que je ne vais plus au gym, trop depressed, mais j'y retourne dès cette semaine) Je me sentais très glamour, Hollywood a été mon surnom de la soirée. Il y avait même un petit flou dans ma caméra vers la fin de la soirée. J'ai pas nécéssairement hâte de voir les photos :-s Malgré tout je m'en suis bien tirée, faut dire qu'il y avait 350 personnes. Il y en a eu des pire que moi ça l'air. Good.

Parlant de poids. Mon fils de 11 ans sort de la douche, vient nous embrasser pour nous souhaiter bonne nuit. Il est en bobettes, les cheveux mouillés, complètment adorable. C'est l'annonce de chars avec William Shatner à la télé, et je suis en train de dire "On dirait qu'il va accoucher!" Comme je dis ça mon chum sacre une claque sur le ventre de notre fils en disant "Parlant de grosse bedaine!"

.... Ah ben crisse. Les rayons de la mort sont partis de mes yeux. Il vu. JAMAIS, ok? Jamais tu ne va faire de remarques comme ça à ton enfant de 11 ans. Bon je pouvais pas lui dire, pas devant les enfants. Je ne comprends pas ce qui lui a passé par la tête de faire ça. C'est tellement stupide et méchant. Premièrement il n'est pas gros. Oui il est costaud, mais pas gros ni obèse. Mon amour de mère ne m'aveugle pas. Mais génétiquement, je le sais, il sera toujours comme ça. Et je peux facilement le comparer à ses chums, surtout l'été quand ils viennent se baigner. Non, mon fils n'est pas gros. On a eu la discussion cette semaine L. et moi. Mais j'ai tort et il a raison. Whatever. Mais de faire ça? C'est le genre de chemin que tu veux prendre avec tes enfants?

Est-ce que je vais lui en parler de cette claque? Oui, il le faut je l'sais bien. Mais j'ai peur de la tournure que cette conversation pourrait prendre. Je vais y penser.
  
  

C'est parti

  
  
Le magasinage, les cadeaux, les soupers, les partys, les décorations, la bouffe, le monde que j'ai pas envie de voir. J'ai même pas décoré encore, pas de sapin, juste quelques lumières dehors. Il fallait bien qu'il en mette, tous nos voisins l'ont fait...

Ça fait trois jours qu'il coke, dans le jour même des fois. Après toutes ces années, il pense encore que je ne m'en rends pas compte. Je le confronte, il pogne les nerfs... Ehhh qu'on a du fun. Que ça soit une ligne, un quart ou un gramme je m'en crisse. Pour moi il n'y a aucune différence. Je suis au travail, qu'est-ce qu'il fait de ses journées? Je l'sais pas. J'arrive c'est le bordel, il fait a souper à peine un jour sur deux. Je me tape les devoirs, le souper, le ménage, les réunions, les lifts pour les cours, les courses. Il a quelques projets en vue, il joue à la bourse, il va au bar.

Bon, ça va faire.

J'ai décidé de prendre le mois de décembre off de toute cette merde. J'ignore tout ça, j'arrête de déprimer, me morfondre, me replier. On passe les fêtes. Je vais tout faire pour que ça se passe bien.

Je vais me mettre un beau sourire dans la face, je vais dire s'il vous plait et merci, je vais frotter, popoter, acheter les hosti de cadeaux, rentrer un sapin, étendre les maudites décorations laides à travers la maison.

C'est pas le temps de bad tripper, pas avec les enfants. C'est leur plus beau temps de l'année, je leur gâcherai pas ça. Mais je ne regarderai plus en arrière. C'est fini. Comme c'est là, je ne sais pas s'il sent le courant changer, mais puisqu'on ne peut plus se parler, il est ben mieux d'allumer. Parce qu'il va avoir une méchante surprise.
  
  

Rain song

  
  
These are the seasons of emotion
And like the winds they rise and fall
This is the wonder of devotion
I see the torch we all must hold.
This is the mystery of the quotient
Upon us all a little rain
Must fall.
-Page/Plant


Just a little rain? Or is this a downpour? I don't know. So many things are falling down, so many moments are being washed away. Then a crack in the clouds and a few rays of light. A smile, a hug, a touch, a kind word.


Through my storm I've encountered islands of tranquility, patches of sun. Now I see the land where I can build a new path, where nothing will be familiar but everything will be right. I will not crash on the shore. I will meet the sand, feel its warmth, print a trail and move on to the wide open space before me. This is where I will stand, this is where I will grow.
  
  

The spirit indeed is willing

  
  

But the flesh is weak.


What am I to do? Say no?

Ohhhh Jim, Jim, Jim... You of the incredible cock...

I give you my skin, my breath.

Take me please.