Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

Last night I had the weirdest stress dream I have ever had. It involved participating in a group heist at a dance hall, being arrested by fake cops and taken to a jail which was actually a bar that we had to work in, having people try to force me to eat food I can't have, secret doors in bathrooms, and uncovering the fact that this was all an elaborate ruse to try to get me to buy the bar. There was a lot of running and screaming at people in the dream, and when I woke up I felt like I had spent the night running and screaming rather than sleeping. Not ideal.

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It's been a while.

I needed to get some distance from this blog, I think. Also, what little time I have between work, school, and a couple of other projects, usually finds me too tired to do much more than watch TV. And sometimes even that is too much and I just end up sitting and staring into space.

There are some big and exciting changes rolling out soon in terms of my photography. When's soon? When the big hand hits the 's' and the little hand hits the 'oon.' Bonus points if you get that reference. Honestly, I can't give you a firm date, and for now I'll still be here. Posting sporadically. Hopefully that's okay with y'all.

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Also, I really like this picture. Just, you know, in case you were wondering.

Sudden Downpour

Today was a day punctuated by sudden downpours. These were the kind of short-lived soakings that normally only happen in movies. They are the reason people speak about the heavens opening up. Part of me wanted to run out into the street, stand in the deluge and let myself get soaked. I don't know why.

Brought to you by water

My life: brought to you by water. 

Last night I killed my phone by managing to get it into a sink full of water. See, I was texting someone while walking through my apartment, I tripped on one of my shoes that was sitting by the door, launched the phone across the kitchen/entryway, and got it into the sink full of soapy dishwater. Impressive in its own way I suppose. If I had been playing basketball it would have been a great shot. Anyway. The phone is deader than dead and I am currently waiting for a rather important call. Cue panic.

It poured today. And I mean POURED. Which was actually okay with me. It meant that I didn't want to go outside so I stayed home, cleaned the whole apartment, did some work, had a wonderful Skype date with Audrey, and listened to Elenowen's new EP on repeat all day (currently available for a free download at Noise Trade).

The rain came to a stop for a while around dinner, so I popped outside to take some post-rain photos. Sunlight + Water = SPARKLE. It was rather lovely.

So aside from the whole phone fiasco, things are pretty good here right now.

Heart-achingly Beautiful

heart-ache, n.
1. Pain in the heart; formerly = HEARTBURN
2. Pain or anguish of mind, esp. that arising from disappointed hope or affection.


I find the phrase "heart-achingly beautiful" rather useful at certain times of my life. When I am moved by something tremendously beautiful, I actually experience a physical sensation of heart-ache. Lately life has been heart-achingly beautiful; there is just so much joy kicking around that my heart feels a little full, and, consequently, a little achy in the best possible way.

Wonder temporarily overpowering the mind

astonishment, n.
4. Mental disturbance or excitement due to the sudden presentation of anything unlooked for or unaccountable; wonder temporarily overpowering the mind; amazement.

I've been finding myself astonished quite frequently lately. Here are some of the (good) things that have been provoking this sensation:

The friends I've made out here. They are some incredible people.

The fact that it has already been 8 months since I've moved. Crazy!

The small, simple moments of beauty that are everywhere.

On Days Like This

Today was not a good day. I did have a lovely dinner with a friend, but aside from that there just wasn't much good going on. When life sucks and nothing seems to be going quite right, I find that searching out beauty and inspiration is one of the ways I can maintain my precarious grasp on sanity. Here are a few of the places I wander to online when I'm in need of a reminder of the good and beautiful things in life. I thought I'd share them with y'all so that you too could turn to them in moments of need.

A Cup of Jo - I visit this blog every single day, without fail. Every. Single. Day.

rockstar diaries - I'm obsessed with this blog. It is impossible for me to not be inspired by Taza's posts.

Clumsy, Creative Bliss - Gorgeous photography and a consistently positive outlook on life. This is a must-visit blog any time I'm feeling sapped.

wit + delight - Consistently reminds me why I appreciate the finer things in life, and how wonderful the simplest things can be.

Note to Self - Just a gorgeous blog. And the Monday quotations always resonate with me.

Nancy Straughan - The sheer volume of visual and artistic inspiration I find on this blog is astonishing.

thxthxthx - Because I find this concept absolutely delightful and Leah's view of the world is so wonderful.

Ring Them Bells - Witty. Funny. Touching. Slightly bizarre. Elizabeth is a delightful writer.

The Storialist - Ekphrastic poetry that is incisive and touching and challenging all at the same time. Hannah's discipline astonishes me.

Live Creating Yourself - Always something beautiful to be found on here.

Don't bend me or I will break

Wake Me Up
Norah Jones

Wake me up when it's over
Wake me up when it's done
When he's gone away and taken everything
Wake me up

Wake me up when the skies are clearing
And the water is still
Because I will not watch the ship sail away
So please say you will

If it were any other day
This wouldn't get the best of me

But today I'm not so strong
So lay me down with a sad song
When it stops then you know
I've been gone too long

Don't shake me awake
Don't bend me or I will break
Find me somewhere between my dreams
With the sun on my face

I will still feel it later on
But for now I'd rather be asleep


Do you ever find yourself listening to a song over and over and over again? I do this all the time. If I had grown up in the age of records I would have been one of those people who played a single until the record actually warped. For the past few weeks this Norah Jones tune has been the one on endless repeat at my apartment.

A little somethin' somethin'

It's my birthday in 3 minutes!


Just a little somethin' somethin' for you all to enjoy. This is one of my favourite shots from a photo walk I took in early December.

Last One Standing

I am now the only person in my program at school. It was never a big program, but the other two, for very good reasons, left over Christmas break. This was a weird realization, and to be quite honest the reality of it hasn't totally set in yet. I'm trying to make the best of it. After all, it's not like there is anything I can do. I just have to keep on trucking. But I'm also feeling a little bit exposed and insecure and just a little bit scared. I've always relied a little bit on my fellow students to keep my sane and grounded. There have always been people who could commiserate over stress levels, and that always made me feel less crazy. There have always been people to talk me down from the precipice of full-on panic attacks. So going it solo is a bit scary. It's like having the training wheels taken off before I'm really ready.

Hot Mess

I look like a hot mess because I've been writing and editing hardcore for days now, but the thesis chapter (such as it is) is now handed in, which means it is officially Christmas break. Time to party (with lobster)!

A Prickly Creature

At least for me, the writing process is a strange and prickly creature. I require a very specific set of conditions, all of which must be right, in order to be optimally productive while writing. The lighting has to be right (and this requirement changes based on location and time of day), there have to be enough people around (and this number changes based on my mood), there needs to be the right music playing (and what constitutes "right" changes based on season, mood, time of day), and there has to be some je ne sais quoi element that kicks in at exactly the right moment. Writing moods are unpredictable and almost impossible to create artificially. This, of course, is a bit of a problem for a student. Sadly my professors will not accept "There was a really loud, buzzing fluorescent light in the office" or "There was an obnoxious group of people meeting in the coffee shop" or "I couldn't find the right playlist" as reasons why my paper isn't done on time. And if you think those won't fly, just try to slip in a "For some reason I just couldn't get in a productive frame of mind." Seriously, try it. At the very least you will give your professor a very good laugh, and they need that just as much as you do at this point in the term. I seem to have found a relatively fail-safe combination for writing productivity: coffee shop (specifically Just Us, I don't think I could substitute another coffee shop in here) + excellent decaf soy lattes + a playlist heavy on the 100 Mile House. This seems to create a particular chemical reaction that trips the writing centres in my brain and allow me to crank out papers at a relatively rapid pace. The only downside to this is the fact that the coffee shop closes at 8 or 9. Then I'm cast out to try and find a new home. I have yet to discover the perfect kismet of circumstances for my post-coffee-shop writing and therefore am far less productive after I have to leave. Oh well. I'll figure it out eventually.

Tell me a story, dear

from "Tuscan Cypress" in An Italian Garden
A. Mary F. Robinson

XI
Tell me a story, dear, that is not true.
Strange as a vision, full of splendid things;
Here will I lie and dream it is not you,
and dream it is a mocking bird that sings.

For if I find your voice in any part.
Even the sound of it will break my heart;
For if you speak of us and of our love,
I faint and die to feel the thrill thereof.

XVI
Come away Sorrow, Sorrow come away -
Let us go sit in some cool, shadowy place;
There shall you sing and hush me all the day,
While I will dream about my lover's face

Hush me, O Sorrow, like a babe to sleep.
Then close the lids above mine eyes that weep;
Rock me, O Sorrow, like a babe in pain,
Nor, when I slumber, wake me up again.


There is always that one class that you struggle to engage with. The one that you have to drag yourself to. The one that you put off doing the work for because it doesn't interest you at all. That class for me this semester is Victorian Lit. I was excited for the class. I love Victorian novels, and the last time I took a Victorian Lit class it was rather enjoyable. But the works we are studying are failing to engage me and the approach of the class does nothing but frustrate me. I once had a wise professor tell me that the key in each class is to find something that you love, something that fascinates you, and to focus as much energy into that as you can. Well until tonight all my efforts to do this in Victorian had been for naught. And then I read A. Mary F. Robinson. I think I found my in. Her works aren't particularly happy - in fact they are characterized by the horrors of the world and marked by a deep sorrow - but my favourite poets almost always have this. I love the opening lines of poem XI. So, tell me a story, dear.

What the Light Teaches

from What the Light Teaches
Anne Michaels

     4

Sometimes I was afraid to touch him,
afraid my hand would go right through him.
But he was alive, in a history
made more painful by love.

I prayed to the sky to lift our father's head,
to deliver him from memory.

I wished he could lie down
in music he knew intimately, and become
sound, his brain flooded by melody so powerful
it would stretch molecules, dismantle thought.


I went on a photo excursion today. I didn't really have time, but the weather was gorgeous and the sun was beckoning me to come out to play with my camera. So I obeyed it. It was the kind of light that begs to be photographed. The kind with weight. The kind with soul. The kind that has something to say. I'm a bit obsessed with light, and I realize that I might sound crazy, but I'm okay with that. If photography has taught me one thing it is that sometimes I have to get over myself and just sound or look crazy (I had more than one bemused look today from other people out enjoy the weather). As I was walking the title from this poem kept popping into my head. This is possibly my favourite section from this long poem. I know it's not about light, but I don't think that's the point. When you get this kind of light it has something to tell you about more than just itself.


More from What the Light Teaches.

It's here!

Fall, my absolute favourite season, officially arrived on Friday!

Here it came in with lots of rain and lots of good times with friends. The leaves have just started changing, and the weather actually feels like fall now. I can't explain how happy this makes me.

Looking Forward

Want to know one of the things I am most excited about for when I'm living in Nova Scotia? Four seasons. That's right folks, they have four seasons. Edmonton theoretically has four seasons, but autumn and spring hardly count out here. They last for about a week. And it's really a shame because they are such gorgeous times of year. Okay. They ought to be gorgeous times of year. Spring in Edmonton is mostly associated with brown sandy sludge all over, the emergence of garbage that has been under the snow all winter, and a really annoying pattern of thawing and freezing that means the city basically turns into a giant skating rink. That's unpleasant, but what really bums me out is the fact that we get gipped out of an autumn here. What we do get can be just plain amazing, but it is so short that for someone who is an autumn-lover like me it is rather disappointing. So, I'm super stoked to live in a province with an autumn that people rave about. I'm hoping for days like the one pictured above: soaked in golden sunlight and saturated with rich colours. I know it's only August, but I am already so excited for autumn that I can barely contain myself.

Aftermath

Aftermath
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

When the summer fields are mown,
When the birds are fledged and flown,
And the dry leaves strew the path;
With the falling of the snow,
With the cawing of the crow,
Once again the fields we mow
And gather in the aftermath.

Not the sweet, new grass with flowers
Is this harvesting of ours;
Not the upland clover bloom;
But the rowan mixed with weeds,
Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,
Where the poppy drops its seeds
In the silence and the gloom.


Welcome to the aftermath of exams. I have been walloped by my annual end-of-the-school-year sickness. It happens every year; I run on adrenalin mixed with stress and add in a dash of sleeplessness for about a month and so as soon as exams are over and I relax for a second my body succumbs to some illness or another. Last year it was the flu, this year it seems to be a deadly cold. Of course, I also have to work all weekend/most of next week, I need to move out of the apartment on Tuesday, I have an interview to go to on Thursday and grad is in a week. So, in short, a rather inconvenient week to be sick. As long as I have meds in my system I can do a convincing impression of someone who is not dying. It's a tricky balance for me though. If you know me, you know that my stomach and I have a bit of a testy relationship. Well, one of the things that does not generally go well is medication of any kind. I seem to have found a balance that works. At least, it has worked for one day. We will see how long I can make it last.

We read this poem in the second half of intro English in my first year of university. That was the class that made me fall in love with poetry. Every time I hear the word "aftermath" I think of this poem now. It is so beautiful.

Light's Embrace

I love light. That has been well established on this blog. Sadly, now that the sun has emerged on a more regular basis and the days have gotten longer I have had to hole myself up in windowless rooms to do work. But there was a moment at work today when the golden light of the cusp of sunset came in the window next to my desk and wrapped me in its embrace. And for those precious few moments all the stress and worry drained away.

This picture is from the walk my roommates and I took through the river valley in the fall. It is probably my favourite shot from that evening. The gorgeous golden-hued light just makes this lovely plant all the lovelier.

Encouragement

He strolls past the office door looking like he's on a mission. But he catches my eye as I'm coming out and takes a couple steps back.

"ENCOURAGEMENT," he says, waving his hands in the air between us as if they are the conduit for positive thoughts and reassurance.

"I haven't even started," I say, gesturing with my head towards the stack of textbooks in my arms. My voice is tinged with half-crazed laughter. Laughter that teeters on the edge of tears and is born out of stress.

"That's okay," he replies. "ENCOURAGEMENT." Once again, waving his hands.

He looks a bit foolish, but he makes me smile, and it's the first genuine smile I've given in days. And I actually do feel encouraged.

[Thank you.]

WARNING: FRAGILE

I am far more delicate than you can possibly imagine. You need to move slowly.

This is a blatent repost from I Wrote This For You. I adore that blog. And after the week I had last week this was just too perfect a sentiment to pass up.

The Road Less Traveled By

The Road Not Taken

Robert Frost

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This poem is the all time favorite of two of my dearest friends. So this post is kind of for them. I took this picture a few days ago in our backyard. This is the path that runs down beside the garage to the back gate. I loved how it looked in the sunlight. As soon as I saw it this was the poem that popped into my head (By the way, is it weird that poems pop into my head when I see certain images? Or is that merely an indication of how suited I am to studying literature?) and I knew I would post the two of them together. I realize that this is not a leaf strewn path in a yellow wood, nor is there a second path, but it certainly is the path less traveled. The weeds are growing through the cracks in the sidewalk and the lighting makes it look old, worn, and neglected. And really, it is the less taken path off of our property since the back gate has been broken for a while and you can't actually open it.