Watch where you drill!
Monthly Archives: November 2006
Still at Work…
…someone put me out of my misery.
A Moment of Silence, Please
Update:  I FOUND A COPY! I forgot to check my laptop, which is what I originally wrote it on. It’s missing a couple pages, but that’s a lot better than the whole thing.  It’s a Christmas miracle!Â
I have, apparently, committed an act of man-slaughter or story-slaughter, unintentionally. It could be said that I have ignored or pushed away my creative bug, possibly committing a great sin to inspiration or maybe it was bad creative karma or maybe it was just a stupid mistake, but something very grave has happened. I think right now I am trying to make light of it, but it’s most likely just a state of shock.  This is one of the worst things that’s ever happened to me.
Last summer (not this past, but the one previous) while at the Colony, I was working on a manuscript about God, Tumbleweed and I. I haven’t really worked on it since–well, not a lot. But I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Lastnight, was the night to pick it up again. At some point, I deleted it–accidentally. I have checked the backup disks that I have and it’s not there either. I am almost positive no one else would have a copy. I read it once, last January, and I gave a copy to someone who asked for it in the audience. Other than that person, I don’t think another copy exists (if that copy still exists).
I am sick to my stomach. There is no way to recreate that work, obviously. I am at a loss… I might be going fetal for a while…
It’s Too Cold to Think
Â
It’s -25 C right now and windy. Instead of thinking something witty up, I will report to you that the sixth (and most likely final season) of Scrubs is about to begin this Thursday!
And here are my current favourite lines from the last episode of season five (which I just watched on my lunch break).
Carla: Look, I feel like there is a list of things that I can give you that are sucky about being pregnant. For starters, I am now as horny as I have ever been and my husband is repulsed by me.
Turk: Listen, if you really need it that badly, I will suck it up and shut my eyes so tight… and then do you.
Carla: Thank you for the sacrifice.
Broke
As Christmas–*spits*–approaches, I am forced to go down to the mall or down to the Wal-Mart/big box stores to find something for everyone. Admitedly, I am a great gift-giver. When I buy something for someone, the chances are, it will be a great gift. Now, I don’t mean to sit high up on my gift-horse–*chuckles*–but I have given a few great gifts in my day and this Christmas will be no exception. (An example of a great present were the (canoe) paddles I gave to my best men. They all loved it.)
Now, let’s just get this out of the way. Brenda is undoubtedly going to post “Where’s my candy?” I haven’t sent it yet. In other news, the much anticipated present(s) did arrive and so I will be able to give out these wonderous gifts to a lucky few (and keep one for myself). However, while looking at the ever increasing balance of what Christmas is going to cost, I have begun to wonder and think about different types or avenues to go down as far as giving this year.
Yesterday, I started reading Letter and Papers from Prison by Dietrich Bonhoeffer (that was sent to me from my mother–a thoughtful gift). The book begins with an essay that Bonhoeffer wrote and gave to some of his friends as a Christmas present. I thought What a great idea! I mentioned the idea to Leah and she said Isn’t that a bit egotistical? To be honest, the thought never crossed my mind–maybe because I am so egotistical–*glares*. I still think it’s a good idea. So, I was going to keep it a secret, but don’t be too surprised if you open up a brilliant 12 page essay for Christmas this year. Paper is something that I can afford and words are free.
If you want to write me an essay for Christmas, I would happily accept them, hold onto them and when you are famous/dead, sell it for money.
A Tumbleweed Tale
Part TwoÂ
See them tumbling down
Pledging their love to the ground
Lonely but free I’ll be found
Drifting along with the tumbling tumbleweeds.
Some of the best conversations that I have ever had have been travelling down a prairie road–beside my friends, the tumbleweed–whether it was an exhaustingly hot Friday after a week of camp with Laura, or returning from Saskatoon with Tracy–helping her with selling something or other, or the trips to the Qu’Apelle valley with friends who like to sing Meatloaf and Queen, or driving with my Dad back from Alberta.
On one such trip with my dad, for some reason, I told him about Tumbleweed Truthteller and/or my fascination with tumbleweeds. He enlightened me to something I had never thought of. Obviously, this is not verbatim, but I will do my best.
Tumbleweeds are not necessarily a symbol of good things. During the depression, tumbleweeds signified the poor soil, poverty and a drifting, vagrant lifestyle. There is more to the tumbleweed than the cowboys. There is more than a superficial metaphor, but some real pain behind them.Â
For me, that pain is outside of my lifetime and it’s hard for me to see, but I know that it is there. I know it is there because of the way my grandparents are/were. My grandma keeps everything. My mother, who is not poor, is constantly worried about not having money which I imagine is a direct result of depression upbringing. And I have a habit of being a bit of a scavenger. I suppose there might just be a little tumbleweed in all of us.
I read today that tumbleweeds are not native to North America. You might think it was from Russia because they are often referred to as Russian Thistles but originally they are from Australia. Damn Aussies spreading their seed. Then they went to Russia and then to North America. You can basically find the tumbleweed anywhere in the world and maybe that is more a sign of our times than any biological reason.