Fait chaud

Alors j’ai décidé de fêter ça avec un gros bol de crème glacée Coaticook à l’orange. La crème glacée Coaticook, c’est la meilleur au monde, point final. Écoeurez moi pas avec Ben & Jerry’s pis Hagen Chose m’en sacre. La Coaticook, au sucre d’érable, aux bleuets, au brisures de chocolat… mais surtout, surtout! à l’orange.

Je viens de vivre un épisode blogmad. Pas pour le traffic, vraiment, ça me dérange pas d’avoir 1 ou 100 lecteurs. Je pense que j’en ai environ 12 ou 15 réguliers, c’est le fun, je les aime tous 🙂 Mais j’hais la barre de navigation de blogger. Next blog, c’est d’la marde. Alors là je peux choisir le genre de blogs que je browse. J’avais envie de voir d’autre chose, lire, lire, lire! J’ai trouvé une dizaine de nouveaux blogs que j’aime beaucoup. Là le site semble chrashé, mais c’est pas grave, j’en ai tiré ce que je voulais. J’ai quand même une quote de 6.75 sur varb, ce qui semble assez bon comparé à la moyenne, je suis flattée. J’ai aussi surfé sur top blogues et fait d’agréables découvertes 🙂

J’ai des fois l’impression de m’enfarger dans les mêmes sites, les mêmes places, où je ne me sens pas toujours à l’aise. Surtout les blogs en français. Finalement, j’avais juste pas trouvé le bon répertoire. De plus, même si j’écris surtout en anglais, j’aime lire en français. Je sais pas ce que j’ai ces temps-çi, j’écris toujours en anglais. Comme si la division était plus profonde, comme si une autre moi prennait place devant l’écran l’instant d’une montée de désespoir.

Les émotions n’ont pas de langues, mais les mots pour les exprimer, des fois, trouvent leur langue à eux. J’aimerais apprendre l’espagnol, l’allemand, le latin, le mandarin…

Là ça va, il fait beau, il fait chaud, la fin de semaine s’en vient, pis je mange de la Coaticook 🙂

Je me sens même un peu naughty…

Hotmail lags

I’ve been using hotmail forever. I don’t know 8, 9 years? I don’t know if it’s just me, but lately it’s been acting up. Some delays in delivery. Sometimes for up to 2 hours! Just tonight, I tested it, and there’s a 5 minutes lag when I send from Hotmail to Yahoo. I send from Yahoo, receive right away in Hotmail. But once in a while I will get that 60-90 minutes lag, usually when it’s something sent between Hotmail accounts.

Now, five minutes is not a big deal. It’s nothing actually. But anything over thirty minutes is ridiculous. I use both Lotus Notes (what a heap of shit that is) and Hotmail at work. And I am now considering switching totally to Yahoo. The main problem is that I can’t install Yahoo messenger at work, so I would have to keep a browser window opened at all times. I actually installed the Yahoo bar, and it gives me alerts when I have new mail. But I still have to have that window opened. And I’ve customized Hotmail so much over the years, folders, options, blocked senders, signatures, etc… just the thought of doing that all over again on depresses me. I would also have to alert all my contacts, which can be done quickly, but would require a lot of reminders as well.

I love Yahoo’s interface, it’s alot less busy. And all the options and folders are easily accesible, not tiny and buried under huge flashing banners. Yahoo is saying that you will be able to access your Hotmail account from there soon. That would be great.

It took me five minutes to switch from IE to Firefox (well, Mozilla at the time), but this change might take a while longer. But I think it will come, unless I’m not crazy and Hotmail is really having problems (right, like they’re going to tell us) and are working on it… Man I’m lazy.

It’s the thin skin under the thick one

But it’s all good. Damn if I can’t learn from my mistakes. I let things overwhelm me, inside. Never outside. I’m cool. I’m the fucking embodiment of cool. Inside, inside is where it’s going on.

Learning also to let enough shit to seep out, keep enough in. Balance. Oh, it gets heavier on this side here once in a while. But never enough that I loose sight of reality. Of the world outside.

Just add some fluff. Just add some light. Just add some laughs. And you got me. All of it.


The escape I seeked seems to have taken over. Bigger than the situation. I was running away, hit a wall, found a secret door. I wish I didn’t enter at times. I wish I could stay inside too.

I fed the escape. Gave it more meaning, more importance than I should’ve. I fed the escape and now it won’t stop eating.

I think I might be trapped. And I’m very afraid.

Why did you come here?

It was just to see, just to see, all the things you knew, I’d written about you.

But you never came back. Still, you are around. Still, you talk.

The two worlds travel side by side. You are stuck in reality.

I am stuck in the words, again.

Images, moving images. Flying sounds carrying your voice.

I am surrounded by you, separated by the waves.

I made room, too much room when you leave.

One play, one role, one line.

Cut. Let’s get rid of the script, for once.

When the lights go down, when the make up comes off, let’s escape.

Take your path. To my parallel world.

My winter of discontent*

I was walking towards my car in the Home Depot parking lot. I had to buy a few things but walked out emtpy handed. I couldn’t make up my mind, didn’t like anything. I opened the car door, sat in, closed the door. The biggest sigh of my life came out of me like an elephant falling on its side. I looked outside, at the empty carts, the parked cars, the drizzle on the windshield.

-I’m tired of this fucking life. Sick and tired of it all.

Outloud, like that, it came out. No intonation, no emotion. Just a statement that needed to be said. Outloud.

I put the key in the ignition, started the car and pulled out of the parking space. Drove. Stopped at Blockbuster and got Halloween, From dusk till dawn and Ferris Buller’s day off. Drove some more, past my house, around the block, back to my house. Parked. Got out. Walked in.

Got on with my life.

It’s spring now.

*title credit: Jeliel

J’ai faim… encore

Même si les tiens sont imaginaires, les yeux des hommes me rendent toujours belle. Après avoir imaginé leur visage se perdre dans le parfum de mes longs cheveux, leur regard s’attarde sur mon visage, mes lèvres qui les invitent, mes yeux verts pleins de promesses. Mais jamais très longtemps, jamais assez longtemps.

Leurs yeux descendent toujours plus bas, où mon corps prends son envol. Là où tout ce qu’une femme désire d’une autre se trouve. Ils voient leurs mains monter lentment de mon ventre vers mes seins, les peser, les caresser, s’émerveiller de leur grosseur. Quand je leur tourne le dos, je ne brise rien de leurs rêveries, je leur laisse plutôt l’image de leurs mains tenir mes hanches, admirer mon cul. Parce qu’il est vraiment admirable. Je l’aime mon cul parce qu’il porte ma vie, il change avec moi, mais toujours il est admiré.


Mon lit est sous la fenêtre. Le matin quand mon réveil sonne, le soleil me plombe dessus. Je repousse les couvertures. Je m’étire de tout mon long. Je regarde mes beaux orteils colorés, mes pieds, mes petites chevilles, mes grandes jambes. Je sens le soleil chauffer mon ventre et mes seins. Je passe mes mains dessus, je fais durcir mes mamelons. Ils sont tout petits, dans une grande auréole. Mes mains descendent, mes doigts décrivent le contour de mes lèvres, descendent encore un peu. Un doigt trouve son chemin en remontant. Et me donne un sourire pour la matinée.

Instant combustion

I was leaning on the washing machine. The one next to my appartment, there for the tenants to use. I was leaning on it because it was shaking so bad I thought it would just go through the wall and end up in the kitchen.

-Do you think it washes better when you hold it like that?

My heart stops. I’m 16. Everything that’s not on purpose is an embarassement.

-Ahhhh, well, no, not really, it’s just really noisy you know?

He’s smiling, turning away from me, facing his door, unlocks it, goes in. Instant combustion. I was on fire, from the embarassement of course. But mostly from seeing him. My mother had told me about him. Our appartment doors were facing each other. The new neighbor. Cute was the word she used. I didn’t have any words. I was in love. 10 seconds, a flushed face.

The following day I found a sheet music for Wrapped around your fingers lying on the floor in the hallway. It could only belong to him, since we were the only two tennants in the basement. I almost knocked, but chickened out and left it stuck in the door knob.

Later, in the evening we crossed each other. I was on my way in, him on his way out. Smile again. Flushed again.

-Thanks for the sheet, I was looking all over for it.

One big word, shooting out of my mouth at 100kmh, while looking at my shoes.

-Well, thanks anyway!
-Ok. While trying to dissapear so I don’t start to giggle or talk again.

A week or so later. I invite a few girlfriends over, we drop acid and shoot the shit. Then I say my neighbor is really cute. And all this and all that and I go to the bathroom and when I come back to the living room, the door is opened, and two of my friends are chatting up my neighbor… Shittttttt. But he’s cool, invites us over for a beer. He has a couple of his friends there too, getting ready to go out to the club. So we chat and I can see the guys are having fun with us, teasing us, thinking they’re so smart since they’re in their mid twenties and we’re in our mid teens. But Neighbor is looking at me more and more, and I can’t feel that damn acid kicking in at all. Can’t feel much, except the fire.

The guys leave, we go back to my place. Day after, I walk out the appartment. He probably heard me, cause he opens his door and invites me in. The same guys are there, and one of them is getting ready to do a tattoo on Neighbor. So we pick a design, have a few beers, and I’m in love. In love, at 16, with a 24 year old man. We exchanged numbers.

I couldn’t wait. I had to call. A couple of nights later. I asked him if I could come over to tape Pink Floyd’s the Final Cut that a friend lent me. It was mine, I was lying. Of cours Neighbor says, come on over. He knew. He knew why I was calling, knew what was going to happen. But we played innocent for a while. For about five minutes.

Time line: A month of fucking. A breakup that wasn’t one since we were not going out, since I was too young, since he didn’t love me. Three months of me crying, spying on the girls that were coming and going, of listening to the clickclicks of their high heels shoes walking from his living room to his bed room. Six months of more fucking. A breakup that wasn’t one since we were not going out, since he didn’t love me, since I couln’t take it anymore because I did. A month of silence. A phone call. A diner. Ninteen years of life together.


From my fingers
From my eyes
From my heart
Between my legs

All the drips converge. They mean the same thing. Fusion of my fluidity.

I am water. I am blood.

I realize that everything I’ve tried to put into compartments actually belongs together.

The reasons for this, the explanations for that.

The noise… of course it won’t stop. It’s the perpetual garbage truck.

And it’s the drips.

I fucking ache at times.

I fucking leak.

Je plonge

Ok. J’essaie. Pas de promesses. Mais c’est une façon comme une autre de perdre ma cerise.