Just woke up from a dream in which I was driving. Saw a parade that I wanted to join so I could find Dirk. I pulled over, parked hastily and walked with the parade until it dispersed. Never did find Dirk, and by the time my dad picked me up, I realized that I had lost my car.

Yup, it's summertime: the time of my writing when I have the time, the leisure and the inclination to report on my inscrutable dreams. Aren't we all lucky. At least it's a break from Broken Social Scene fandom—honestly, it's like I've joined a cult.

Today we walked to the library and had lunch at the mall. I think the idea was planted in my head when I was doing some random reading about the city and discovered that those two buildings used to be joined by a tunnel. A tunnel! It's been closed for a number of years due to "safety reasons," which we all know is code for some horrible murderous scandal that's being hushed up at the highest levels of civic government.

What's in that tunnel? The bodies of rival candidates? Poorly-worded street signs that somehow encouraged street racing? Dead remains of sentient monster flowers that are the true reason behind the city's nickname and wait dreaming in R'lyeh (a.k.a. the basement of the City Centre)? I feel like the only thing that will answer my burning question is an irresponsible shenanigan. I'd better time it so that I'll be out of jail when Blake comes home.

Labels: dreams, home town

Closer and closer to my public dancing debut. Last night Jessamyn and Keeral came over for a drill session that became an impromptu henna party. I can't get over how profoundly my social life has changed since I started taking belly dance lessons. When I moved to Brampton shortly before Blake was born, I was more or less content with the assumption that I would never have any local friends to match my Toronto pals. Or, any at all. And now, 5 years on, I have local friends, local activities and even local parties. The only thing I lack is a local boyfriend, but I'd rather have a commuting Mason than no Mason.

We had our dress rehersal last Saturday, and I felt the magic of costuming for the first time. I had no idea what a profound difference it would make to run through the choreography in full shimmying, sparkling glory. Juuki was overwhelmed with pride in her girls. I was pretty pleased myself. Since last week's practice was punctuated by long bouts of crouching on the floor, coughing helplessly, this couldn't help but be an improvement.

Yesterday was Blake's fifth birthday blow-out. For obvious reasons, I took a year off from the party thing, but somehow I managed to make the house look great without filling it with people. My secret is dollar store streamers in orange and hot pink, and helium balloon bouquets left-over from the semi-formal I supervised on Friday (tarted up with Buzz Lightyear stickers from last year's birthday). Total expenditures: $2. This is so typical of me; if I pour tonnes of money and effort into something, results are decent but if I slap a bunch of dispirate elements together, I somehow make something amazing.

Blake was spinning with glee all day long. (His first question when I picked him up from Casa Nova in the morning was, "Daddy gave me Iron Man; what did you get me for my birthday?"*) My parents showered him with Backyardigan merch, Uncle Nic bought him his first drumset and promised to give him lessons, I made him an Arthur Mothman doll...he even got a small box of chocolates from Jessamyn. Dinner was ham, scalloped potatoes, peas and coleslaw. My mom made the Iron Man cake of his dreams; he was served the head at his request and I let him eat it any way he wanted. He got to stay up late with the ladies and sing snippets of lusty pirate songs. It was pretty much the perfect day.

just in case you forgot what he looks like.

I even got a present: there was a fair chance that Mason would have to stay in the hospital after his doctor's appointment yesterday, and he didn't have to after all. So my gift was not loading a sleepy and sugar-crazed Blake into his carseat for an evening in the ward. Not that I wouldn't have done it if he'd called, but it's nice not to have to add a depressing asterisk to this year's birthday celebration.

The only downside for me was that I was up till forever o'clock finishing Arthur - it took me a full half-hour to realize that the wings weren't going to work - and I was pretty tired. It was a weird kind of tired, though; I didn't feel tired but my patience was at absolute rock-bottom. I snapped at more than a few kids with very little provocation. I called it my rage-bubble. I'm just glad I didn't do it to my classes.

Tonight I'm hiding out from the oppressive sleet and trying to finish my choli. I had an appointment to eat food for money, but when I arrived I discovered that they were overbooked. Easiest $15 I ever made, and it's nice to be back in my found money/yarn money loop. If only I could let myself knit something that wasn't a gift and required foolish squandering. I'm sure I'll find some reason to blow it.

* "A pancake," I responded. "I hope you didn't get one already."

Labels: blake, dancing, friends, home town, knit, mason

I think that my difficulties with this journal have a lot to do with my drop in self-esteem. I'm having trouble with my morale lately (hate my body, hate my haircut, hate my social life) and I think that clearly spills into my enthusiasm for documenting the daily activities. I've been keeping this diary for so damn long that I know I need to write through the block – and that what is torture to produce isn't torture to read a few months down the line – and so all that's needed is mulish persistence and the energy to keep stringing the words together.

So here we go.

Today I had tea with Poppy in her house. We were supposed to get together over the March Break, but I was bad about calling and it never happened. This is the second of the make-up dates (third, if you count Lesbian Brunch), and it went off beautifully. Poppy was still feeling under the weather, so we eschewed a public café in favour of her living room. Fortunately, she and her wife are neat people, and the house didn't need to be cleaned frantically upon my arrival (unlike, say, when I entertain in my home). Poppy & I curled up in arm chairs while her very pregnant wife lay on the sofa, and we had tea and chatted. It was very civilized - I love to watch other married couples and judge myself by their example (it's just one more way to dislike myself). I also like seeing their house: I am beginning to see the possibilities of home ownership, and they are quite pleasant. (Before, I had trouble visualizing my life beyond the housewarming party.)

With that in mind, the Rocketfamily went on a brief post-prandial drive tonight through the price-appropriate areas of B-ton, so that the Boy & I could do some serious thinking about priorities. When we made our lists, we turned out to be pretty similar – the only major difference is that he's wary of repairs and gardens and I'm not. Our real-estate agent is taking us out on Sunday, so it looks like we'll be spending next month in other people's kitchens. Sounds like fun, n'est-ce pas?

The truth is, I'm really excited about this. Not only can we move out of the basement, but we can pay off our own damn mortgage rather than someone else's. Sure, it's not Toronto, but our old life is not ready to be resumed even if we were to live in Toronto. Most of our friends have fallen out of touch, and when you have to put too much effort into every gathering, it ceases to be fun. (Remember, I'm feeling pessimistic, so you may not want to take too much stock in what I'm saying now. Tomorrow I may have made dancing plans with Scherezade (yoo hoo!) and have recanted on this whole vein of sadness. That's the problem with me at present: I'm Too Damned Gloomy to be borne.)

Labels: angst, basement, bat masterson, home town

I am indulging myself tonight. We have beer, corn chips, all 7 issues of "The Eternals," and a baby who didn't take a nap and may just need an early bedtime. The only other thing I may want is a margarita on an Annex patio, but I can live with this. It's just that when the day is sunny & bright, when it's warm enough to be out but not warm enough to bask…I think of Seth, and a big chilly margarita, and casual res acquaintances, and eating nachos while the sun goes down.

Now that the week is over I can see that I've worked hard. Comes from all that stress, I suppose – I was phoning it in before the March Break and now all those professional bills came due. This week I worked double-time to pay them off; now that it's over for a couple of days, it's nice to kick back with my boys.

Speaking of the boys, they will be my only companions this weekend, as I was un-invited from Lesbian Brunch the very next day. I'm not really hurt (maybe a little miffed), which doesn't really stack up against centuries of pain & torture inflicted on homosexuals throughout history. I guess I can take a little hurt for the breeder team (which I didn't even affiliate myself with, but okay.)

I even get a bonus boy: Dirk will be seeing the sights of B-ton tomorrow. Now I just have to figure out what those sights might be. I'm thinking: the mall…and Mount Chinguacousy. You'd think I could come up with more, having lived here for most of my life, but no. As teenagers we used to hang out everywhere, as long as it was dark. And as a young adult, it was bars. Since neither of those are specific/interesting/appropriate for an afternoon with a 3-year-old in tow, I'm still trying to come up with something interesting. I suppose that itself speaks volumes.

I got an update from Preacher via the email: Good Hank has rotavirus & a wicked double ear infection. I think we'll try this again in the summer; a little less puking would only improve my already-high opinion of Watertown.

Labels: bat masterson, family, friends, home town, vacation