Oh hell can't sleep.
I got just drunk enough, earlier tonight on mojitos at Baru, to have woken up a half-hour ago very thirsty, with a headache, and hot. I don't think the heat has anything to do with being slightly hungover, but it belongs to the same discomfort family. It would be the daddy.
There's this little pad of paper lying on my desk, stolen from the Maritime Hotel, with a tea ring on it. The tea ring, to my mind, looks like a comet. The comet looks like a face, on account of my having drawn a little face on it. Woosh!
Walking Happy, today, was fucking epic. Let me explain to you why. Why is: it was hot. I had sunscreen on - this awful SPF 22 (of all numbers) Dr.Hauschka stuff which, despite probably costing fifty bucks, smells like Jo Malone perfume mixed with child's diarrhea - and still I could feel my arms and shoulders cooking. I took the reverse of my usual route, heading for the path along the railroad by the 7-11, to the park, around the park, and back to the house past old men watering the sidewalk (?) in Bermuda shorts. We stopped twice along the way to cool off. Paranoid that I am, I'd brought a bottle of water and a Tupperware lid to fill for Happy, in case, without constant cooling breaks, she were to expire like a cartoon dog with all four legs pointed stiffly in the air and her tongue sticking out. I felt like goddamn Gunga Din, self-effacing and so forth, while I gave her the lion's share of the water. Did I tell you how hot it was? I'm not good with heat. I'm a cold person. In more ways than one. Baboom.
I think my dog appreciated the water, too. At least, she appreciated the way I gave it to her. A couple of times on other walks, lacking any sort of dish, I'd sort of poured water straight from the bottle onto her head and back. And as refreshing as I'm absolutely determined to think that was for her, she still gives me wide berth whenever I break out the Evian.
Not that I bother with Evian. I just refill an old bottle from the water dispenser in the kitchen, don't I? "Break out the Evian" is simply a turn of phrase. A TURN OF PHRASE.
I'm sorry. I'm angry with not being able to sleep. Who can I blame besides myself? Kim and Ciaran, no doubt, for taking me to Baru and getting me loaded.
I had a nice little steak, though, with these really fantastic potatoes stacked under it. It was vertical food, you know. But good.
Um.
Agh. Happy's snuffling around on the carpet behind me, and it's quite dark, and she seems to be keeping track of something. Something crawly. But I don't want to turn the lights on and check on it. I'll just put my feet up on the desk here. That's right. Safe as houses.
Safe as houses? What the fuck? Did that expression originate with like, real estate? Because I can't imagine any other way in which houses are inherently safe.
Of course, I'm thinking of Vancouver real estate.
But houses generally are death traps. In one way or another. Let's admit it.
Last night I was reading in bed, fan on low, and this giant spider crawled across the wall and nearly gave me heart attack. And I like spiders, but this one was a little too predatory for my tastes. I mean, I know all spiders hunt, or trap, or whatever, but this spider looked like it hadn't sat around on the web once in its life. It was too well-muscled and dark and sort of oily looking, like it spent all of it's time on the beach. Though it probably didn't. And it moved with calculated grace, I'm telling you. It gave me the creeps. I jumped up, grabbed a mug and a postcard, and trapped it, before accidentally dropping it on my bed and shrieking like a crazy person. But I caught it again and took it outside. I've read that spiders you find in the house can't survive outside but to hell with that crap, because this spider could probably survive on fucking mars. It would probably set up shop there and become spider king.
Which gives me a great idea for a screenplay!
Oh fuck it. I'm going back to bed. I'm reading Little Nemo in Slumberland. Because that is apparently my only way of experiencing R.E.M. sleep. Through Nemo, second-hand, as he explores Jack Frost's palace made of ice cream.
Num. Ice cream. Popsicles. Freezer.
*up and dies*
And for the hardcore lurkers among you: I've just added a few choice photos to the recent Saturna set on Flickr. Marian took them. She has many skills.
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5 comments:
That one of Kim near the bottom is amazing.
Have you considered getting a little air conditioner for your room? Or are you against air conditioning (some people are....rightly so)? At the very least, you could get one of those box fans you attach to your window that sucks out the hot air and sends in the cool air.
Before my dad had central air installed, he would put a sprinkler on the roof to cool down the house. Oh, and he would put a standing fan at the door, but facing outside. No wonder our neighbours thought we were cracked.
Actually, my parents recently gave me their fancy fan. It's very effective and the white noise is top notch (my old fan, before it broke, sounded like this: click vrm click vrm CLICKCLICKCLICK VRRRRRRRRRRM click), so it's not so much that my room is hot. I've just been getting more sun than I'm used to lately, and it makes my skin feel prickly, you know?
I need some decent aloe or something. The Coppertone "cool beads" stuff I've been using as an aftersun lotion is sheer crap.
I'll have to look and see which picture of Kim you mean. And you two'll have to meet sometime. I'm always so lazy about introducing friends to other friends.
And yeah, I'm generally against air conditioning at home, at least in Vancouver. Though I do use it in the car, so: hypocrite.
Air conditioning is teh ick (as the saucy youthfuls are saying, these days). But I have a North-facing apartment which manages to stay pretty icy through most weather, summer or otherwise, so what do I know?
Also, I choose to get no sun whatsoever, and that helps too.
Oooooh! Well laa dee daa! Aren't we above it all! Ooooooooooooooh!
heh heh heh
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