We are all made of stars

Well, the weather broke.

After enjoying an absolutely beautiful week of balmy, breezy days, solid gold sunshine, and temperatures hovering about the twenty degree mark, we’re officially back to the drizzle.

Dressing myself for work this morning I had to gird my loins, knowing full well that in order to get out the door I would have to face the ever-dreaded “turtle neck and pair of tights” combination.

Humbug.

So sure was I last week that I had seen the last of this much worn duo: “Until (at the very least) next September!” I had cockily crowed to Marc.

However.

Even the thick mist and rain spackled streets can’t do much to temper my mood.

Because dudes I am feeling pretty darn good.

Today I kicked some major butt at work, and now I’m off to do a show tonight at a new room (for me) with a bunch of very funny, and very rad comedians.

Also, this Wednesday I have my first show at YukYuks, which makes me feel all squiggly and nervous, but also very, very happy.

This past weekend I bought a ridiculously cute dress for my sister’s wedding (they had to order my size, so as soon as I get it home I will take a photo!), and last night I made homemade pizza for dinner, and tonight fresh pasta with homemade sauce.

Friday is normally the day that I save for a fry-up, but to mix things up a bit, let me please present you with – the Monday Mash-up.

You can’t fight it, it’s science.

I have a crush on Carl Sagan.

He is my imaginary dead boyfriend.

Is that weird?

Whatever, he was a hot piece with a fab brain.

I just wish that he was still alive to keep doing his mad-genius thing, helping young people the world over get jazzed about space. The future of Canada’s space program is currently up in the air, and I just believe that if our government gave more weight to bright, brilliant, and brave scientists (such as Mr. Sagan) we wouldn’t be facing this situation.

I may just have to go back to uni and take on a whole new career path.

Put on the kettle.

LOOK AT THESE MUGS I BOUGHT:

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I cannot even being to tell you how happy they make me.

I mean, they are a perfect combination of three of my most favourite things: hot drinks, cursive writing, and my love.

YES.

Reading rights.

SO.

After lamenting my reading drought, I have been back at the books fast and furious.

The first book I read was Black Snow by Bulgakov. He is one of my all-time favourites, and if you get a chance be sure to check him out. His magical realism will blow your mind, and he shines a light on the absurdities of 20th century Russian society like no other.

Next I re-read The Infinite Wait, a graphic novel by Julia Wertz. Terrific all around. Funny, moving, inspiring – this woman is a gem.

Finally, I just finishing Faithful Place by Tana French.

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THIS WOMAN IS AMAZING. One of the best mystery writers I have ever read (and I have read my GIANT share of mysteries.) Plus I am always amazed when anybody can write well from the opposite sex’s perspective, and Ms. French does it absolutely perfectly.

Ch-ch-check it out.

So there you have it folks.

What are you reading these days? What did you get up for the weekend?

Let me know all about it.

Show and tell

About two weeks ago I posted the first part of a writing piece that I am currently working on, about which I am rather excited.

Quoth the kitten...

So may I present to you, dear readers, part two:

For a split second I think Tom is going to hit me. I blush from a mix of excitement and fear. 

He’s never done it before, but there is a moment when his body pulses and his jaw clenches and I half expect his wrath, and his exasperation, and his exhaustion to just wash over me; to just wash me away.  

Instead he picks up my economics text lying next to me on the counter.  His fingers scratch its stringy, yellow spine before launching it across the living room.

“What is wrong with you?” I yell before I can stop myself.

I run over to my book. My footstep are swallowed by the other overturned texts that liter the floor.

In silence, Tom strides over to the water closet and punches his fist through the door.

Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself. 

Breathe, breathe I whisper to Tom. 

I hope no one has heard us.

Tom is staring at his shaking fist, dazed. He looks up and takes a tentative step towards me.

“Coming to finish them off?” I challenge, waving to the other books lying to my right and left.

He stops. It is his turn to blush. 

“I’m sorry.  Marja.  I am.  I just. I just can’t afford to do anything about this.” 

I look back down and I can hear him return to the kitchen.  He pours water into a mug. 

“If it makes you feel any better I’ll go see Gdancic tomorrow about it on my break.”  He says, as he walks over to me, almost on tiptoes, like a seesaw. 

His knees crack as he folds his legs into a squat.  Taking the book from my hands he passes me the mug. 

“I can’t believe I threw your book.  I’m really, really sorry.” 

I sip and pause.  He kisses the edge of my right eyebrow. 

I sip.

And pause.

“It’s okay.”  I kiss the corner of his mouth.  “But it’s only okay if you do something about your hand.”

Tom lets out a long sigh.

We sit in silence.

“Okay. I will. But I can’t do anything much until I’ve finished this project.  If I get a shot, I’ll lose all the information…”  He trails off. 

“What?”  I ask.  Tom quickly puts a finger over his lips, telling me to be quiet.  His eyes move in the direction of the balcony. 

I look.

Outside of the patio door a thick rubber caterpillar is inching its way up the pane.  A small green light blinks from the top.  I’ve never before seen one if my life. 

Only on posters and backlit billboards. 

“Oh God.”  I almost drop the water.  Three drops dot the cover of my scrambler and I can’t even bring myself to wipe them away.  Tom inches closer to me, his backside scratching the carpet so much that when his fingers touch mine an electric current runs up my right arm, and settles, tingling, behind my eyes. 

“Did you do anything?” He whispers.

My breath stalls, thick against my neck.

“No.  Nothing.”  I bit my lip so hard, I can taste blood against at the tip of my mouth.  “Tonight’s repaving was only about two blocks away.  It’s probably just easier to take someone from the neighborhood.” 

I don’t turn my head in his direction. 

“Marja.”  I feel the reassuring weight of his hand on the small of my back.  We watch as the blinking green light disappears, inching its way up to the next floor.

We wait.

And then silently, we rise. 

Tom teeters over to the hall closet.  The shrill squeak of the door on its last hinge seems to echo around the apartment. 

Tom freezes.  I freeze.

“What?” I whisper. 

Tom shakes his head and mouths an apology.  “Nothing.” He whispers back.  “That just really freaked me out.”

“The caterpillar?”

“No.”  He shakes his head.  “The sound of this stupid closet!”

I can’t help but smile; my heart beats a little slower and I move towards him.

The blast comes so quickly I don’t even have time to reach for my helmet. 

And the dark crashes over me, like a ravenous wave. Too eager, it swallows us whole.