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03 February 2006

The End of Another Week

I suppose, in a comparison scale of your basic 1 to 10, or the much coveted 1 to 5 Potors, this hasn't been that bad of a friday night. Mind you it's only 10:15 pm, but my next decisive action is only going to be to crawl between some fuzzy sheets. I believe that it was 4:18 this afternoon when I looked at the time on the microwave and the only thing I could come up with was that it felt like it should be atleast seven. So I did what all young women in their late twenties / soon to be thirties does on a friday night when her boyfriend is out of town. I polished off half a pint of cocanut rum in orange juice and finished a baby quilt.

Is that sad?

Please don't answer that. On the most recent trip to the lieu, I was trying to discern how drinking cocanut rum in orange juice and finishing a baby quilt could be infinately more impressive, and not quite so pathetic as my previous weekends of drinking ceasars and watching a weekend filled with TLCs Wedding and Baby Stories. I'm hoping that all recollections will be gone by tomorrow morning.

However, in saying all that, I am going to go with the spirit of drunken stupors and tell you things that I *probably* wouldn't normally admit to, but, what the hell. I thought that I would manage so much better with PC being gone. I guess I wasn't particularly counting on the fact that my history has been flooded with me being the 'flyer outer' and not the 'dropper off at the airport-er and then have to go home to an empty house and carry on as normal'. It sucks. Kind of like a pregnant lady pole-vaulting. I have yet to clear the bar.

Tomorrow I am going to Sussex for the night. A girlfriend of mine that I went to college with 5 years ago lives there in a little farmhouse, on a little hill, off a little dirt road. It's quite a lovely spot so I hope to take some pictures. I stood up with her at her wedding three years ago. We drove across Canada together four years ago. We drank our faces off and shared a room 5 years ago. There's a conversation to tell your kids - 'Your Auntie Laura? Why she and mommy used to spend 14 hour days together shipping smolts!". Who the hell ships smolts? Oh yeah. Me. And Laura. Weird. Anyways, she's pregnant. 9 weeks along. She called me two days ago and told me. Told me she was so excited, even though she wouldn't have had to since you could hear it echo through her entire body. She wanted me to be pregnant too. Because we always seemed to do things like that - one of us would jump on some random bandwagon and the other would say "Hell Yes! How'd I miss that?!" And we would jump together.

And before anyone blows a complete and total gasket: I am not running out to get pregnant. But it certainly hits home that in 9 weeks I will be 30, I will still have two years of my degrees left, my PC is in Alberta and I suddenly got frustrated for a lot of choices that I made in the past 10 years. Relevant? I suppose. Enough to actually change anything? Probably not. Anyways, Wednesday afternoon I crawled under my covers and cried. I'm not a big crier, not too terribly prone to curling up and hiding from the world and wallowing in a vat of self pity. But I sure did on Wednesday.

So as I raise my final glass of doctored OJ, I salute to you with a stiff upper lip and say:

It's all good so keep on keepin' on. It may not look like much right now, but trust me, I'm sittin' on a mountain of some seriously good shit.

"A gossip is someone who talks to you about others; a bore is one who talks to you about himself; and a brilliant conversationalist is one who talks to you about yourself."
Lisa Kirk

1 comment:

Curious Jane said...

Hear, hear!!