Time seems to be seeping

Okay, I know how hokey this may sound, an aboriginal talking about her dreams and what it means. But I’m telling you, I think time is slipping backwards into my dreams. For the past year, and with increasing frequency, I’ve been dreaming things before they happen. Strange things. Like the tsunami. I had a dream about being in a building with a tsunami rushing in. And then two months later it happened. But now I’m getting more and more little snippets of the future, really vague simple stuff. Nothing like “The world will end at two pm and I will be eating a pink donut!” But stuff like this pipe, a sort of sherlock holmes pipe, then the next two days I saw the exact pipe in two different television shows.

Time is a funny entity. It loops, it can split off into two or more timelines, it can go backwards and forwards. I would really like to experiment more with time in my films.

In my dreams at least, future images are showing up like clues. So bizarre. And I keep falling asleep at regular hours. How weird is that?

Work is aggreeing with me so far, I’m remembering how to do it. First day, I’ll get better. I just wish people weren’t so hostile.

Hmm, why are we so hostile to strangers doing a job? And to strangers who can’t find a job. You can’t win, someone’s going to be mean to you no matter what you do.

Meeses!

I caught a mouse today, in a pink plastic cellophane bag from Ruebenesque, a store for fat ladies where my mom bought me a fancy shirt-thingy. It was eating popcorn from Kernels, Double Hit, freaking mouse, I wanted to eat that. It was cowering in the bottom of the bag so I picked it up, went downstairs, and set it free in the alley. It darted across the street, attracting the attention of a bored kitty cat. Last I saw the cat was in hot pursuit under a fence. I doubt very much the mouse lived. It kind of defeated the purpose of setting it free. Oh well.

My graduation ceremony went well, I didn’t do a prat fall on the stage or anything. And I even got to graduate with some of my old art school buddies. That was nice. Sally Potter, the director of Orlando, was there getting a honourary doctorate of letters. Afterwards my mom spotted her leaving and pushed me in her direction so I could tell her how much I liked her work. She was very gracious. I always feel so nervous around famous folks, because they probably face that all the time. Who knows though, I have limited experience with fame. Oprah’s not exactly banging down my door wanting to see what the views of a halfbreed leather dyke video/performance artist are. Not that I mind terribly, I’m shy. I’d probably pee my pants in front of a live studio audience.

Peeeee!

They’d think it was some sick NEA funded statement.

So now I officially hold a BFA with a major in Film/Video. I must admit, it’s pretty cool to think my studies are behind me. But at the same time, there’s the challenge to remain a practicing artist while juggling work, and learning how to keep making work without all the support offered in school. It’s strange. And even as that’s closing off to me, there’s also more opportunities, like being able to apply for grants again.

Back to the drawing board

I’ve been offered my old job back. It’s kind of funny, to end up back where I was. At least it’s in an air conditioned building now, before it was brutal working there in the summer. So I guess I’ll take it, I need the cash. And I’m going to keep looking for work, a coffee shop would be nice. Editing would be REALLY nice. Whew, life after school is weird so far. I’ll get used to it. At least I’ll be making money again. I start working on Monday. I already know their computer system well, so hopping back on the phones won’t be too bad. It’s just temporary, while they need the staff. That’s fine by me, as long as I can get another job in time.
Anyway, aside from that I’m just hanging out with my ma, goofing off. Soon it will come to an end. But I sure am glad to know I’m not going to struggle to find a job soon.

The long day

Today I drove with my mom and a friend out to Merritt to pick up my stuff. Merritt is my Dogville. I lived there for four months during adolecence and left being totally crazy. Oh, nobody said I was crazy, but I was, crazy. Add to that the fact that my only outlet was at the shooting range, and watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, and Lampchop’s Playhouse, before Lambchop died. I was going to pull a Columbine if we’d stayed, I was being bullied and sexually harrassed that much. Maybe that’s why years later when Columbine did happen, I thought “Hasn’t this already happened?”
Anyway, bad memories, BUT my stuff was there from when I left Vancouver. It’s been shuffled around the country staying in different relative’s basements or storage areas. And now I finally have it all! Opening the boxes was like christmas. It probably sounds really materialistic. But most of my stuff are books, videotapes, film, and items of personal sentiment. Like the Marvin the Martian figurine my mom gave me. Oh, and diaries. Tons of diaries. I’ve kept diaries since I was thirteen. Some people burn theirs. I don’t want to burn mine. They’re kind of useful for me to remember where I was at specific points in time. And who I was.
Anyway, me and my things are reunited after a very long day. Hurrah! I feel somewhat more normal, I haven’t had my stuff in years. Now I just have to fit it somewhere.

I am a bad rat mom

This morning I woke up, looked around all groggy, and then realized that Clive’s cage door was open. He was not inside. I remembered falling asleep while he was crawling around. He was no where on the bed, and my apartment is still quite a bit messy. Added to this the sudden realization that there was Warfarin in the apartment for the mice.
I was in a state of distress when I found him curled up, happily sleeping in a garbage bag. Rats will be rats, after all. I picked him up and kissed him and said “I’ll never lose you again!”
He’s such an old rat, I’m amazed at his determination to keep living. It’s inspiring.

And when I don’t speak . . .

I spent time with my family today, which was so lovely and wonderful, except for the dangling participle that became involved, and things got very ugly. My family are such sticklers for proper english. Maybe that’s why I don’t often speak.

It’s true, some of you may have wondered about my tendency to not say much of anything from time to time. The real reason is because I am crazy. But aside from that, since all I’ve ever known is shyness, I’m pretty used to my cycles of speaking/not speaking. I have noticed the following interesting trends:

I can speak with up to three other people around. Four or more are out.
I can’t speak to anyone I think is really grand.
I can email people, but that’s not really speaking is it?
I can often be coaxed to speak if given food or pot. Actually, that last part was a lie, I just wanted to see if you’d give me pot to make me say something.
When manic I can speak to anyone, including seven strangers in a bar in Saskatoon one holiday night, and I was so talkative and friendly that soon the whole bar was chatty and someone even trusted me with their hundred dollar bill to go get change.
(I did come back, I was crazy, not evil)
I often find it difficult to think of things to talk about that aren’t going to freak people out. There is a stringent process new friends have to go through during which you can figure out where the boundaries are.
Confessions are my chocolate, I love hearing other people’s dirty secrets.
Ghost stories are also useful at getting my interest.
One on one conversing is usually the best way to talk to me, IF I am not in a weird environment, which I can sometimes be found in, where disco lights are spinning and there’s some naked girl on a stage, or almost naked, and everyone’s pushing and horny. Yeah, so that basically cancels out talking to me at a bar or an event. Also I don’t often tell people, but I have poor hearing and it’s just not the best environment for me. Yep, little disability heads up to you all.
Filmmakers talking shop, come on, sooooooo sexy! I love those gatherings,like in film school when we were accumulating a debt and learning on equipment older than ourselves. (It has all changed since my days there already, they have a decent number of computers. Although I am sad to see the Steenbecks go.)
I will sometimes interject a conversation with an off kilter comment in the hopes of being able to converse. One time I was at a barbecue of some people I had only gotten to know a short time. It was a nice sunny day, we drank Pims, someone was talking about how they fed McDonalds to people in jail. I said “Oh yes, my babysitter used to go to jail all the time, she said they gave you McDonalds for every meal. It was disgusting, she hated McDonalds.”
“What did she go to jail for?”
“She stabbed her boyfriend.”
A curious silence ensued.

Really though, I am chatty when I’m in the mood. I guess Virginia Woolfe was right, manic depressives are cameleons.

Take a chance on Me

Last night I downloaded as much Abba as possible. I am now listening to Waterloo. I love that song.
“How could I ever refuse? I feel like I win when I lose!”
My mother bought me some kicky new shoes for my birthday, they are lime green and ultra cute.
Finishing school has left me feeling somewhat bewildered. I need to figure out some crucial things about my life, like how I plan to make a living, how I can finish this script so I can get funding, looking into further training programs in directing (ie Sundance), and then some more personal issues related to my own health up-keep. It’s all really startling, almost as weird as graduating from high school, but not as shocking. I mean, then I had to move out on my own.
It is a funny thing, moving out on your own. I survived on pizza by the slice for the first year, and lived in a one room apartment in a dodgy neighborhood. Once there was spilled blood and coffee at the bus stop. I was lonely most of my first year.
Then I ended up living with some leather girls and much fun ensued. Fetish parties, poppers, floggings, stories of dirty adventures, ecstacy, I was a bad ass.
I dare not do ecstacy again because of my medications. The mushroom trip to the hospital was quite enough thank you. But I like being around people on e, all that hugging. It can feel pretty religious, just loving everyone for who they are.
I hope I can find a nice job that isn’t soul shredding. It would be great to get work as an editor, because I love editing! WHO KNOWS!

I beg pardon?

My mother and grandparents have arrived, which has left me feeling a bit bewildered by the sudden entrance of relatives into my proximity and the old habit patterns which remain. I really don’t know how to relate to my relatives the way I can to my friends.
Or it was because I forgot some pills last night. My bad.
But I really think it was the Secret Talk I got after dinner with my family. My mother had been watching me like a hawk all day, and then she leaned in and said, “Your grandparents and I want to talk to you about something.”
Oh shit, I thought, I’m crazy and I haven’t noticed, and now she’s going to send me to the bin again, and god knows what that would provoke-
“We think you pee too much.”
“WHAT!?”
“You’re only supposed to pee eight times a day. You should really go see a doctor about that. They have medication for it now.”
Yes, so now my mother wants me to throw another medication into my cocktail for peeing. PEEING!
There’s a comic by Natalie Dee which relates:
I Quit
See more of her daily comics at:
www.nataliedee.com

The bubbles have melted.

I bought a mint Aero bar for my birthday breakfast and I left it in my pocket. The bubbles have melted. It is a chocolate and mint paste.
I’m displeased.

Googly Eyes

I googled her. She googled me. They googled him. He’s gone googly. Ah, Google, it’s one of my all time favorite things, to google. Especially googling people. Recently I googled an ex girlfriend under Images and found a picture of her name on a tombstone, which I promptly emailed to her.
People have told me they googled me, which always makes me feel weird, kind of like the time I found a friend’s webcam site and got trapped in the popups. I tried so hard to shut the windows, but no, they kept coming.
Anyway, whew, that took me back.
I’m glad I have medication.
Well, today is my birthday. The Dali Lama once said that every birthday is really a celebration of your coming death, so celebrate I must. I have some money in my pocket and cigarettes and a small crowd of good friends, going out dancing wearing a sexy outfit, looking for spankings from girls. It’s going to be great fun. Every birthday I try to think if I’ve learned anything over the year. I mean, life lessons, not just what I learned at Emily Carr.
I shall have to ponder while I clean for the mice exterminators.