Miyuki Says...

I am now to write that Paul is Stupid, Mean, and or Crazy.

See Paul, I was writing that...

heh heh

Friblahday

I'm at work. Obviously. I'm posting.

I was sitting here thinking about yet another stupid client and the long list of things I had to do. Then suddenly, I wasn't thinking about that anymore.

I love the way my brain just goes off on it's own little tangents when it knows I'm too tired to keep it focused. It makes life so much more entertaining.

Anyway, suddenly, I'm remembering the first time I read T.S. Eliot. I was with my Gramma as she was visiting a friend of hers. I was about 12 at the time, in grade 7. This lady's son had just moved to England to become a director at one of the theaters there. Knowing how much I loved reading she let me look through assorted books she was packing up to send on to him. In that stack of books I decided to amuse myself with a large tome of poetry.

I can vividly picture her apartment. I remember the way the textured carpet felt as I sat crosslegged, reading. I remember randomly opening the book and reading "The Hollow Men" for the first time. Sometimes when I read Eliot, or Pound, I still get that feeling. That little frisson. The feeling that you have found something that is yours, even a part of you, but at the same time something wholly foreign. Like when you get a sunburn, and your skin peels. You can peel off this piece of yourself and look at all the cells that make it what it is. It's you, but it's also this entire little universe in and of itself. It's parts are yours but you were mostly unaware of their existence. (At least in the sense that you don't regularly acknowledge the presence of the molecules of your skin just because your insides are still in).

I'm not sure that I'm making sense. I'm just at a loss of how to better express the feeling of being shown your inner knowledge and whisperings in poetry written years before your birth. It's like reading the last line in One Hundred Years Of Solitude.

Oohdelally

So, back to the whole crazy parents thing...

I think that my parents have delved into new and terrible depths of immaturity. I hate being a go-between.

My mom thinks that my dad is harboring inappropriate feelings for her (she thinks he's still in love). My dad is just aggravated.

My mom thinks that my dad didn't want her to try and contact her son. My dad is one of the first people who thought it might be important for her to do that, because of the emotional baggage that she's carried around for so long as a result of "not knowing".

My dad still thinks that my mom will be able to do things with him as his friend. Poor, poor deluded dad.

Mom thinks that she must completely reject social contact with dad so that he doesn't get mixed messages. Dad thinks that mom's a ninny.

Mom wants dad to do fixit stuff at her house, so she phones me. Dad has no time but will do the stuff anyway from a very bizarre sense of guilt, but only if mom calls him personally. Mom hesitates to call dad because of her resolution (see above), which is silly seeing as she's not calling him so that he can come over to her house.

The scary part: after 3 years of separation, and a subsequent divorce, all of this has happened in the last week.

The up-side: I get to go to the Santana concert tomorrow (it fell within mom's definition of "social contact").

Why am I a dork?

Is is wrong to love my Playstation? Is it?

Sheldon bought me a copy of Kingdom Hearts on the weekend. I built my own Gummy ship and now I can fly quickly and safely to so many new worlds.

I am a geek. But this game is really good. Especially if you were raised on Disney (like most North American children) and are at least a bit familiar with the Final Fantasy games (I don't think I know anyone who isn't).

Of course the downside to having a game I really love is the fact that Sheldon and I will need to fight over who gets to play their game first, and for how long before the other person can . It won't be pretty.

Hatness

This is the sad hat story.

I had a hat on Monday. I wore it to work. I wore it from work. I got off the skytrain and ran to catch the bus. Then the wind came, and the skytrain tracks have my hat.

I missed the bus I was running to by 20 seconds.

I sat, hatless, for 25 minutes waiting for the next bus. A lady sat near me on the bench. THEN the fattest, ugliest, grossest woman in all of the lower mainland came. She stood beside the garbage can to unwrap her new cigarettes (have you noticed how hideously ugly people always smoke?) and threw the wrapper on the ground. Grrr. Then she wedged her three asses between the other lady and me so that she could smoke. Insult to injury. Then she proceeded to cough. A deep phlegmy cough. She did not cover her mouth. Every time she looked at me I glared at her. She smoked and smoked. But she stopped looking at me. Then the bus came. She tried to be first, but I beat her.

Tuesday I had no hat.

Then I met my dad. We went to Granville Island (birthplace of the hat) and had a whole bunch of fun. We had poppy hamuntaschen, and lemon creme brule tarts, and chai from the island tea company, then we walked all around the market and had roastey chesnuts. Mmmm. We looked at the paper store, and then........

The hat store! :)

I liked the Kangol hat, but it was 62$ before tax. I didn't like any of the other hats I tried on.

No hat for Kim.

Then we went to the store that sells maple candles and other neat things. In that store there was a light blue mostly angora hat. It looked good on me. I liked that hat. My daddy bought me the hat.

Today I have a hat!

Ha ha, in your face stupid bus lady and evil Skytrain wind.

On Brothers

I wanted to say something brilliant about remembrance day. Needless to say, as soon as you try to think of something good, you can't. Instead I've been thinking about my Grampy (mom's dad). He actually fought in the second world war, and when he was still alive Remembrance day was a more important holiday to all the people in my family. Mostly I've been thinking about how much my family has changed...For the better?

Two weeks ago my mother phoned me to say that she and my dad were officially divorced. They've been separated for a few years so I didn't have any delusions about them reconciling. The disturbing thing is that I don't know how long they've been divorced. It's been awhile apparently, only my mom figures that at 24 I'm not old enough to deal with complex adult issues. What the hell?!

Anyway, last week she phoned me, yet again at work, to tell me that she had gotten a copy of her son's birth certificate (her was given up for adoption at birth, so until that moment she hadn't even known his name). She then revealed her plan to do a Canada wide phonebook search for people with that name to see if she could talk to him.

The next day she phoned me, you know where, and told me that she had spoken to him. He lives in Calgary with his wife. I've been an aunt since I was 14.

Last Friday I found out that he was so excited about the possibility of meeting his biological family (his adoptive one being shitty and alcoholic) that he will be here (with wife in tow) this Friday. I will meet them on Saturday. I think his wife's name is Kim. I think that maybe, beneath the weirdness, nervousness and general confusion, I'm excited too.

Blathering...

I won't say idiot. No no no no nonononononononononononono.

The dumber half of the company's brain trust (not that we even have such a thing) just makes me crazy. Sooooooo stupid.

Moving right along...

Now that I have a mostly functional site again, and a working comments system I can see how disappointed people have been in me. While my gut reaction would be to say "screw all you wieners, this is my blog and I will post as infrequently as I want to" I will, in this one instance apologize. I am trying to write more often but it is very difficult because I can't just go home and post, what with my continued lack of internet (and cable). I've gotten to the point where I really hope that some Jesus/Santa Clause like figure will solve both of those problems for me because my budget just isn't coming through on this one.

Anyway... I did write a long post on the weekend at my mom's place. Then I re-wrote it twice because blogger ate it. The only thing I could get out was that pathetic one you see below. The long post will probably never re-appear as it is lost somewhere in the shoddy memory of my mom's computer.

I think the only thing that I wrote that I still want to say is that in some sick way I liked being the angry old bitch sitting with Miyuki and bitterly cursing all the stupid drunks around us. There is a bad, bad, angry little part of Kim that likes being mean to dumb people. Then I remember that I'm one of them. That usually shuts me up.

In other news:

I will meet my half brother for the first time on Saturday. My mom, his mother, will meet him for the first time (since birth) on Friday. More to come on that later, Wednesday?

The last two weeks have been a terrible, not fun rollercoaster of family emotions. I love the fact that I don't live there anymore.

I will write more, but I want to go home now and enjoy my day off. I have big plans involving my pajamas, a couch, a bottomless bowl of popcorn and so many movies....eeeee....Schoolgirl-like anticipation...Yes, you guessed it, I'm going to put my pajamas on the couch and stuff them with popcorn and then make kinky home movies of them. (It might not be funny but I'll bet that none of you can now think of anything dumber to say about the fact that I badly worded my desire to sit at home and be a couch potato all day tomorrow. So there, hah!)

Blogger hates me

I have internet acces this weekend. I want to write to you. Really I do. But blogger keeps eating my long posts. I will find a way...