My sister came home last night from five months of galavanting overseas, and in the course of our couple of hours together she suggested that the two of us take a four-month cycling trip in Europe next summer. Which is so so so so tempting. Part of me says ‘FUCK YEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!’ because I have a latent travel urge that I think most folks can relate to – I truly love my city, the people in it, and the things I see myself doing in the future, but I always feel so alive when I’m thrown into a different place. Going to San Francisco this winter woke me up and made me appreciate what’s OUT THERE, waiting to be seen, so much.
But then there is the overwhelming part of me that has a tendency to overthink everything. This part of me is focusing on the issues:
(1) I just adopted a cat and I absolutely refuse to relinquish her back to the shelter, because that’s pretty cruel. Finding someone to cat-sit for more than a weekend could be tough.
(2) I would like to apply to schools for next fall, in which case I’ll be needing my meagre savings. Along with tens of thousands of dollars in student loans. So maybe traveling right now is a tad impractical.
(3) Travel itself. Especially over large distances, by plane, with a high associated cost. I feel like traveling overseas is a huge marker of privilege, something I can only do because I am who I am, born in Canada, in my particular family. It’s environmentally suspect to traverse oceans, and I’m no longer at a place where I can justify this with “It’s ok because I live so sustainably on a daily basis”. So I need to suss out how I feel about this and decide whether I want to break some of my own rules by doing something frivolous, expensive and wasteful.
(4) My whip-crackin’ ways these days. I do certainly take time out every week to do fun things for myself and with friends, but I feel intense guilt when I’m not being productive or doing something that can benefit someone else. I also tend to burn myself out regularly, working like crazy on a bunch of different things until I crack and then spend a week or two pissing away my evenings. So maybe a break is what I need before I get down to a really, really intense part of my life.
There are probably other things. Logistically, the cat is the biggest issue. Her name is Neko, by the way. Surprise! She’s a babe.
On another note, it’s been a while! I like that I can always come back here and write things semi-publicly when I want to. See you again. Perhaps in less than four-five months time.
I haven’t watched Aqua Teen Hunger Force since it lost its novelty about six months after my friends and I discovered it. But. I may have to start streaming episodes because: NEKO CASE.
Also starring in the ridiculously-titled Cheyenne Cinnamon and the Fantabulous Unicorn of Sugar Town Candy Fudge. Mmm, candy fudge.
Mmm, Neko…
Listening to Neko Case can be dangerous for me; her lyrics seem so intense sometimes, and there’s something about the twang that makes it extra emotive. Good old alt-country. I can sing my lungs out along with her, and break down crying in the middle of a song. “Wet shoes drag you off to school, shoes that never dry…”
Also very evocative is a poem called “The Onion” by John Thompson which I came across this afternoon in The Oxford Book of Canadian Verse in English. Strange that a poem about a vegetable should yank the heartstrings so. I’ll include a few lines, at the risk of defying copyright law (it can be found here if you have access to Jstor):
…
I cup the onion I watched grow all summer:
cutting perfectly through its heart
it speaks a white core, pale
green underskin, the perfections
I have broken, that curing grace
my knife releases;
and then you are by me, unfolded
to a white stillness, remade warmth on warmth.
So we turn from our darkness,
our brokenness,
share this discovered root,
this one quiet bread
quick with light, thyme, that deep
speech of your hands which always
defeats me, calling me through strange earths
to this place suddenly yours.
Sorry for the big line breaks, I’m not sure how to change that. Being technologically inept is definitely not all it’s cracked up to be.
Anyway. Those are the last few stanzas; I love where he places his line breaks and lines like “that deep/ speech of your hands which always/ defeats me.” I think poetry and I may be getting back together, so to speak. Writing well, and also reading well (please see Zadie Smith for discussion), take time and effort. I still have a lot to learn about poetry and writing in general, but I love the feeling of turning out a line that seems right. I want to work at being a poet along with all of the other things I’ve become while my writing life was on hiatus.
It sounds supremely pretentious to talk about my “writing life.” Who the fuck do I think I am? Two publications in a university journal do not a poet make. But I’ll work on it.
