Thursday, May 4, 2017

Censor Time

I guess, I learned a lesson today. As in, everyday, one should learn a lesson. I made a poster that I thought was fine, and it was proof read by a friend, and lets just say, I didn’t pass poster school very well. I had fixed one spelling mistake but I guess I missed all the other grammar mish mashes. SO rough copies are for mess ups and if my next step is to be published, I have to really work on grammar and spelling and know that how it looks is just as important as how it sounds. People, important people, are watching me.

I went to a poetry reading and thought “I could be doing this; this could be me if I take it to the next level.” SO I’m wanting to take my words and my ideas to the next level. And that my censor doesn’t like. It says “well you’re good enough to do this, but you’re not good enough to do that." So I’m writing out my feelings and facing them. Facing the censor and saying, it might hurt a bit, but it’s time to approach this with a great sense of "needing words to look excellent as well as the ideas being excellent." Time to not take my writing for granted, and time to really do up the whole package.

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Music and Footsteps

Music is more than hitting the correct keys on the piano.
Life, for me, is more than getting up and going to work.
Music isn’t something you can just decide to take in university. 
Life isn’t something you can put on hold.

But I’ve done it all: I’ve put everything aside so I could get through the day and be happy. I’ve pushed away my dreams to make sure I had a roof over my head and food on my table. I had to learn how to calculate each step I made to make sure it was a good one. Like fingers on a piano. I’ve looked back at every step I made to see how it affected me. 

Perhaps I’ve weeded out all I can weed out and now depression just happens when it wants to happen.

I “learned” to play piano, my first two years of piano, on a “being” with a broken sound board. I loved the sounds that came out, but it didn’t sound right when I went to play at my teacher’s house. The sounds were different. SO for two years without being aware I was learning to play by making sure my hands went in the correct place at the correct time. Not by sounds and patterns and feeling.

I played my piano last night, a little"True Colours" from the glee book, and heard sounds and patterns that I had never let myself hear before. I can’t even put it into words. It’s just the magic of music.

Maybe what I need to do now, is still watch the feet, but let the feeling and the patterns come in too, just like music. Muisc and life tangle together and pull me forward. As I dream forward,

Saturday, April 22, 2017


Hello stars.

Where have you been?

The city.

No stars in the city eh?

Not many.

Quiet: hear the peepers.

It’s so quiet in the country.

So live here on wild chicken eggs and buffalo milk.

Just like that?


I have a 9-5 and a house, a gym membership…

Like normal people?


And you’re a normal person?



The stars are nice tonight

Wednesday, April 19, 2017


I guess it’s not a bad thing, just different. I’m wanted. People want me to go places, and do things, be things. I want to sit in my bed with my cats, write poems no one will ever read and watch “The Voice.” That’s what makes me happy. I haven’t got the voice on yet I can’t type and “Voice” at the same time. I have Robbie Robertson telling me How to be Clairvoyant.

Adulting is so difficult. All I want to do is eat vegan ice-cream in my pj’s and have cats, I have the cats part but vegan ice cream is soooo expensive. I usually just stick to dairy free chocolate milk for breakfast.

I’m always tossing the ball between “yes I’ll do ‘it’” and “my bed is calling.” I used to think It was lazy, and maybe it is? But It’s who I am. I get overwhelmed at loud dancy places and don’t like organizing things or entertaining. I like to write and play with my voice and hunt and peck the piano.

I used to think it was lazy, like when I was a teenager and I decided that I would be out in the world and do “whatever I wanted.” 30 years later, I realize that what my logical brain wants and what my body wants are two different things. Logically I would like to be out supporting my friends. But there’s nothing better than bed sharing my bed with a calico, and a white cat.

Adulting is so difficult. Luckily there’s a little Cave I can go to and not adult.

Tuesday, April 11, 2017


Well, yesterday was weird and full of gluten free brownies and day dreams. Today I had my brain back until like 3:00 and then I self medicated with some Mountain Dew. I became the entertainer, especially when I discovered 15 minutes before I left work that my pants had been on backwards since breakfast. It takes talent to wear a pair of pants backwards all day. I just thought I had gained a lot of weight from the brownies I had eaten the day before. Ummm Brownies

Does it matter what someone thinks of me twenty, twenty-five, thirty years later? That’s what I wondered on my way to work this morning, Our team is doing overtime so there’s no time in the morning for morning pages. SO I try to make up for it by thinking hard on the way to work. This morning I thought about the dream I had last night. 

In real life I "kept up" with everyone from the museum that I wanted to, We run into each other or leave notes on facebook etc; except one of the guys. In my dream, we met up again, twenty years later and he didn’t have any idea who I was, he hadn’t remembered me. I shrugged said "that’s ok" and walked away.

That nonchalant-ness and the processing I did over night made me think about yesterdays statement: That I wanted to look at people and say I survived. And that in a little while I’ll be a successful writer, just wait and see…

Does it matter what “they” think?  Am I still living to prove my artistic value to someone else? Or is showing myself off a way to prove what I’ve created over the last 20 years “writing myself out of depression?” 

I feel like I achieved it and am on my way to being stable and healthy.

I don’t have to worry about showing the doubters or the haters and part of me. Right now I need to just keep going and doing what I do best. Write and sing and work myself into something successful. Write myself into being and important writer to me and soon my friends.

Monday, April 10, 2017

Nathan Fillion Week

Last night I watched some TV, not “The Voice,” but a cop show, er writer show, oh well it was “Castle,” there was a story and a woman died due to a gunshot wound and then there was a murder to be solved. I loved every second.

I haven’t’ seen an episode of “Castle,” or anything else for that matter, since I moved into Duncanville, almost 5 years ago. (Apparently the show is canceled but you can still see some of it on the CTV website.) SO Sunday night, not wanting to do anything more, I curled up with my computer and watched Nathan Fillion and friends.

And my imagination was off, I wanted to meet all the boys in the show, I made this week Nathan Fillion week when people asked who he was, I told them “my boyfriend for the day.” About a year and a half ago my anti depressants were increased and I don’t want anything to do with real boys; But put them on TV for 45 minutes, give them speaking parts and guns and a hot hair do and I’m interested. I wanted to get my writing done and move to the city and get in the middle of that shit again. That fantasy that “action” and “cut;” The make up and the lights, that’s a part of me I haven’t had the power to face in years. I wanted to tell stories like that. Now it’s time to heal that part.

The ultimate way to tell stories. My mind explodes and, for a moment, forgets it has to start at the begging. The sitting, the writing the editing. But maybe I remembered where it could go and why I like to do it. Maybe TV is a drug and I’m addicted again.

I like to have stories told to me invented for me. I loved working on my novel because of the relationship between the two characters. I fell in love with their relationship but still couldn’t finish the story. Am I allowed to say I love TV shows? I’m fascinated by little 45 minute stories and the people who “tell” them. Am I allowed to succeed even further with the help of the RED PENS. AM I allowed to dig in deep and get all the feels like I do from other people’s work. YES, of course.

And my imaginary boyfriends. TV is a great place to get imaginary boyfriends.

I imagine meeting up with the people I went to school with. The ones who doubted me, the ones I felt I was struggling to survive with, the ones who weren’t sure how to take me and say “Guess what… I’m not as famous as you, But I survived . I'm still alive and I still have time...

Saturday, April 1, 2017

How can I help?

What do you do? When that quiet person in the corner, the little weird person who talks to them self, lives by themselves, and frankly you’re still not sure if either of you know each others name yet... What if your best friend comes to you and says they need to talk because everything is so bad.

With everyone, everything is different. I like people to sit with me and make sure I don’t hurt myself. I like people to laugh with me. I like people to hear me. Other than that I don’t know…OS lets think about it. 

For me, I talk about just about everything to everyone and meet once a week with the bestest I don’t work with. I do it because I don’t want to hold back something that could heal me, or  pehps I can spark something in someone else. But that’s me. I’m a story teller and a washed up actress; I still like the attention.

There are people, who although brave in many other ways are not able, for what ever reason, to approach life like you do, like I do, like other people take for granted. When I was in the city and had a birthday I begged a friend to go out to a coffee shop, she brought a friend and I was ever grateful that they took the time to listen and share with me. I was the strange awkward one, or at least that’s what it felt like.  I was so sure that in five more minutes I’d be ok and could repay them somehow in the future.

Today a layer of doubt fell away from me. I don’t consider myself pretty, because usually when I see a picture of me I’m making a face, my hair is a mess and my cloths don’t match. I looked at “girls’ night” picture from like 2011 or something. People thought I was drunk, but soaked back the cranberry juice all night. I made faces into the camera and laughed like a crazy person. I looked at that picture a few weeks ago and thought, I’m funny, I’m theatrical and I’m strange, and I come from a long line of talking to strangers.

So today in the store I sang to my groceries and talked to the girl in the check out line behind me about our cats. (She thought I was Nucking Futs.) But this is who I am supposed to be right now; Happy, I guess.

What do you need right now to smile? How can I help?

"But You Have Control." --my Mom

I’ve been there, I’ve known that it could get bad enough. In my twenties I knew that I would need a plan, and I knew when things got bad like when I would cry and cry for hours I would walk myself to the hospital and check into emerge so that I would have the medical community watch over me in case I couldn’t control myself. I wasn’t very happy in my twenties. But I had a secret weapon. The “5 Minutes” I knew If I held on, if I waited 5 more minutes I would be ok, something would change in five minutes, I would be distracted by a better life, I would work through my sadness by writing or music. I had this will to wait five minutes to know that everything would be ok.

I look now at one of the articles about Amy Bleuel, the founder of project semicolon and that she died by suicide.  For whoever needs help right now, you can contact the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741-741, or call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
I wonder what if you don’t have five more minutes what if five minutes turns into five days, months years? And you don’t get that fight to live you don’t spend every waking hour playing with and analysing every single feeling to make sure it doesn’t sweep you off your feet. The young lady was 31. At thirty one I had just stopped living with my parents after a rough twenties and worked at a call centre,which was something I said I would never do.  What if I couldn’t find the joy, the temporary beauty of working in my own little work pod all by myself and then the reaching out to some of my best friends and support team ever.

I have friends, not knowing the true experience that I have had say they don’t understand how someone could kill themselves or other people, I can say I get but; I’ve never actually not waited five more minutes to get through it.

So for those of you who depended on Amy and said “If she could do it I could do it.” Look now to yourself and say “I’ve done it and I’ll do it for five more minutes.” I’ll face every fear I’ll reach out to my friends and I’ll sort all this out. One moment at a time. And if you’re like me at 29 and the only thing to do is move home with your parents and you can’t move home with your parents, reach out to one more person. This will be your secret weapon. I have five minutes, You have the whole world reach out to one person and just say hi.”

Friday, March 24, 2017

Ah ha A Fire

I see the fire burn in my heart
But there’s no one else here
Who sees like I do
No one who wants to hold
On to life and cheat death
But wait
Am I
So afraid of death that I’ve decided not to live.
Well lets change this shit up
Lets not be afraid to live even if it means
Dying in the end
Don’t succumb to a death
Before it’s time
Stand up and look the lion
Deep in the eyes and tell her
You’ve got a few more years
To dance and sing and
‘cause that’s

What I’m going to do 

Sunday, January 29, 2017

send my love

I had to stop peaking at facebook today. I don’t read the newspaper or listen to the radio or have a tv but I’d probably cancel my “prescription” if I did. The world got to much for me to handle, there were marches over basic human rights and angry people and sad people and people not being treated like people.

SO I sat and cried last night. And today I took myself off facebook, I didn’t cancel my account or anything crazy, but I’m cutting back on coffee (again) and stopping the influx of news from the states.

There’s a pull right now, to stay informed vs stay sane. To be there to help people, and take care of myself, I’ve had one anxiety/exhaustion attack this week and a cry fit last night. 

Which means I also have to watch what I’m eating again because something could be sneaking in there.

Anyway, this morning I took my journal to the “Laundry Basket” where I do my laundry and wrote for an hour. I never write in my journal there, I usually end up watching the laundry go around or an episode of criminal minds, I enjoy the watching the laundry more than the TV.

I soon started to smile and laugh to myself. I was writing myself little jokes and laughing inside. I may not be doing improve or acting funny all the time but when push comes to push I can still make myself laugh. It’s not easy to do right now, what is happening next door is affecting real people and isn’t funny.

But I’m still here whispering in my ear taking up the funny.

With a little bit of writing and resting I feel better, and ready to take on the week ahead. Ready to admit openly when something doesn’t work for me and ready to bow out of conversations I would love to take part in but would leave me empty inside.

Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Tim Curry is my Spirit Animal

It’s Tuesday night I should be at Zumba. But last night after a little bit of exercise I started shaking, I had already eaten supper but I topped off my night with some pasta and seemed to settle down again.

Tonight I decided to stay home. I had trouble staying awake after the alarm went off this morning. And work was not focused and I felt weird.

There’s a bunch of things

I got a rejection letter for my poetry last night and in the letter included a lot of great information. Like any large amount of great information, I have to process it. It has to run through my body a few days and I have to decide what I take and use and how much. It also puts me in my place a bit, telling me my poetry, or whatever it is, needs more work and editing.

I’m exercising and eating differently and perhaps this has an affect on the large amount of medication I’m on. Maybe it needs to be managed a bit differently. So I’m going to call the DR in the morning and see if that is something I need to worry about.

All this Donald Trump shit is giving me nightmares; I’m arguing a women’s right to her body in my sleep.

I’ve been busy the last couple weeks and maybe it just got to me today. Maybe I just needed to sit down and write and work shit out, so here I am

We Have a curse jar at work and that has been causing me anxiety. You just can’t replace the word asshole with poop head it doesn’t work. I calmed down a bit when I closed my own jar of collected change.

I don’t make much money and that affects me a lot too.

Last night I decided I just wasn’t good enough to go anywhere. Not good enough to make much money, not good enough to be a real singer, not good enough to be a real poet/writer.

SO that’s what I have to work with perhaps it’s a salad of all of it put together. And I just needed to relax.

I feel like it’s a Tim Curry day. When I can relate to every face every character he has created and understand the wildness in his eyes.

Monday, January 16, 2017

Dream Froward

Last night there was another dream about the past. About making it to work, to the hotel, on time. It’s stressful and although I don’t know how to stop dreaming about the past- cold (tofu) turkey; I can look forward in my waking hours.

I’ve always wanted to have dreams of the future, but am plagued with memories of the past, past jobs, past feelings, past activities. I have spent the last 20 years exploring my past, trying to understand it, trying to heal it.

I don’t think I need to do that anymore. I can stop focusing on the past and look to the future. Stop looking and listing all the things in the past that hurt, that worked, that didn’t work, and focus on the future.

Make a list of things that I want to do, want to be, want to go, want to work at how I want to live the rest of my life. It makes sense I can’t see forward, while looking back so far.

There are lists and pictures, wishes and dreams of places I want to go and the person I want to be. I’m ready to go forward.

That’s part of the emotional contract of today to look ahead.

Monday, January 9, 2017


SO let’s see if I can get this all down, it’s sort of a mix of anger and disappointment in the human race, right now. I guess it starts with hero making. The Golden Globes were on last night for hours and hours; Rich people, beautiful surroundings who take hours to dress up really nice, and wear lots of make up. Ok I saw the pictures today and some of them missed their pretty mark—just sayin.

I don’t have a TV, I can’t handle main stream shows anymore because I’ve started to think for myself, not be spoon fed my life goals by Netflix and Hallmark Chanel. Vogue and Chatelaine are not my bibles never were.

But here’s hours of a selected people, giving themselves awards for playing a role on TV, in the movies that they make millions in the process of doing it. I doubt this year I’ll make it over the poverty line, their dresses cost more than I make a year. That’s a reality I live with, not pretty dresses and who is wearing a shoe that is too small for their foot on “that night.”

You know that people are scrambling in places around the world for the right to live. Aleppo is all but gone from the news. Standing rock is still there, on facebook anyway. Canada Just said yes to pipelines and no to saying the word fart in the house of commons. I don’t see how in this day in age, after all it’s been 74 years, why we maintain the same habits and do the same things without deducting how different the world is from the time we started.

I guess what I see is the people suffering, and being killed, people rushing into to save them and we have to turn on our tv and see Michael Keaton not know the difference between the two main movies staring black actors and actresses. Hidden Figures, not Hidden Fences.

DO we want to do this any more, do we want to buy into this anymore? DO you want to spend collectively, billions of dollars on an industry that currently isn’t even relevant? Or do went want to spend our money on people and lives, animals and the planet, education and basic health.

In my small little world, a war veteran just killed three generations of women, the day after he was turned away at the mental health department of the local hospital. I’m sorry, and who won for best actress? Did Carrie Fisher die of a heart attack? Yes, she’s my princess too, but so were these people to their family and friends. We know why Carrie and Debbie Died, lets spend this time and money figuring out why an ex soldier came out of a bathroom in an airport killing random strangers. Let’s figure out why men violently rape and kill their wives, mothers, daughters and sons etc. And how we can stop it. 

I’ve been tangled up in the mental health system since I started puberty, started getting prescribed pain killers in high school and so on, I know what’s it like to think it can’t get any worse and be turned away at the hospital. I know this system and the understanding of mental health needs to be studied and understood far beyond anything that my Dr’s were able to handle or throw the wrong anti depressants at.

But do tell me what Billy Bob said when he got awarded his globe, because really it doesn’t matter to me anymore.

The reason I use The Globes as an example is all I wanted to do as a Child was be on the TV and be in the movies. I even have a theatre degree I wanted it so bad. Now, wham, things have changed.

I want the world to see and process what is relevant. That rather than arguing over whether what is happening and Aleppo is really happening and making a movie about Bosnia and the sex trade of woman. We do more than watch the movie. and start making sure Dr’s and teachers and PHD’s are getting recognized and we can spend another hour without people suffering on our door steps.

I wanted to focus on the animals in this piece, but man, we can't even look after wives and mothers, let alone care how badly your steak was torchered getting to the table. Oh Jimmy Fallons Prompter didn't work, le sigh.

Sunday, January 8, 2017


Solitary: myself by myself with myself for days. Even around people: it’s just me. Like a peanut; they say I have a soul mate, a partner. Yet I know we are kept apart, by the skin that keeps us safe as we grow on the vine, as we turn from seeds into food and back again.

Solitary: myself by myself with myself for days. While being considered by teachers and masses as being the same as those around me. I am so different. “Follow my dreams.” they said. Yet I know I am separate from my dreams. Despite them being inside me and being part of me I was never told how to break the skin and grab hold of being a seed rather than food for someone else.

Solitary, Even around people: it’s just me.  Like a peanut; I fall out of the shell and begin to grow on the land I drop to. I want to not just sustain but to move forward and feel free. Remove the skin that separates us and feel the wind and the sun and let our branches touch.Like knowing that you are scared, yet there’s a need to stay in the spot; grow into the sun, and defend life.

Tea and berries, surround us and we become weeds. The fingers of a writer calculate emotions like a mathematician walking up and down the rows and patches. His mind does 1+1, while we can’t calculate big numbers, we can spend hours on an emotion, on a decision, that has been made, or, needs to be made, passing the knowledge from the heart to the mind to the truth tellers. Hold this feeling in your fingers and then send it to the heart and the mind and then mix all knowledge together.

5 more minutes, Into the words on the page. The feelings in my heart, and the thoughts in my mind. It’s solitary. How I live my life, I’ve learned to take the day, I’ve learned to walk to work, One step at a time.

5 more minutes, Into the words on the page. And then there is a coffee on a Saturday morning, a shop in town with over flowing cups, and little spoons of apple carrot soup. I’ve learned to talk one word at a time.

Tea and berries, the words we share like vitamin “b talk” and vitamin “feel the soul.” We mix our solitary into big mixtures of togetherness. I understand, though I can’t transpose myself into another life walk through a different key hole behind new eyes, I feel I am part of another world. We share more than our heart, we share our growths and we parents to ourselves.


Myself by myself with myself for days. Even around people: it’s just me. Like a peanut; they say I have a soul mate, a partner. Yet I know we are kept apart. By the skin that keeps us safe as we grow on the vine, as we turn from seeds into food and back again.

We Lost the Princess in a Heart -- Attack

A blanket over darling’s head
Through ages one to sixteen
Until one January day in 2017
Across the open tarmac of an
Airport in Fort Lauderdale
A gunman shot a woman dead
In front of darlings eyes
Blood on her sneakers
She was sure she was next
Neither mother nor school nor god
Had prepared her this

When someone yelled “My Princess”

Death Trap

You see…
My cats
won’t eat me
If I die:

A sudden death
Of choking
Or heart problems
I’m not like
dinner from a can.

We feel safe
A paw on the hand
To keep steady
A dress in a storm
“Tights” I say “wear tights.”

My cat tried
to catch a mouse
She spit the taste
Of raw dying
Out of her mouth.

Kitty sat in the snow
this morning
and screamed
it was too cold

without mama.

Sunday, January 1, 2017


SO much to write, so much to believe in this year. SO much peace and friendship to open my heart to. I can be a dove of peace, and listen to the earth, and love the environment. The aim for this year is not to stay hidden in the walls of my apartment and the spaces between my words, but to take a step and help, not only the animals, but the people as well. Help the earth heal. I’m healing. It’s time to reach out and help others heal. It’s time to understand what I spent the last 20 years living through and find a way to scoop up the scared, the depressed, the lonely, and tell them not to hurt if we are living as we want to live, even if there are no rule books for their lives. Even if their leaders are turning the world upside down.

And if we are not living the life that we want to, fight and learn more.

Let’s not dwell on 2016 and it’s death and darkness but look for that crack of light that we haven’t lost yet and pull at it like a huge velvet stage curtain, so we can step out and heal ourselves and when each person is ready in themselves, the world. Make goals to take a step closer into the light of the world however that might mean to you, to get out of bed and smile or fight in the streets of Aleppo to save the life of a child.

Set goals to live healthy, be healthy and be aware of what is happening to ourselves and others this year. To start with a prayer to whomever or whatever you believe in and start walking in the direction that your voice and dreams lead you, even if you only begin as a whisper. We can live together, listen together, hear each other, in our beliefs about: spirituality, gods and religion. We can move forward in love and to help the universe. We can strengthen the power of the oppressed and the minorities and lead forward standing straight and tall rather than limping because; our bodies, our planet, is un even.

I see, no matter what, we are all connected and we have to hold hands and hearts, like those paper dolls we folded as children, see that we are all different and all loved at the same time.

Come with me, start with a little prayer, a little chant, a little list on a “peace” of paper and we shall move forward with the power of the universe pushing us like the waves on a calm sea.