Starving Artist Ink.

it’s frosty on the ground. froshhhty in the air. the concrete stairs leading us to the outside is covered in black ice that creeps over it in the night.

seeing pictures online and hearing stories of friends who are having snow days, building snow men, pink cheeks and hot chocolate after stripping off soaking snow suits makes me a wee bit jealous… but all the same, i’m grateful that it isn’t snowing here- because then it’d just be colder.

did i tell you about the fire that i lit? probably did. i repeat crap. i repeat…crap.

so all the supplies at the ready, strike it up.. feed the flames some paper and cardboard scraps.. throw in a fire log and try to get something going. some coal to keep things nice and warm once we have got a flame. only… there was no flame. only smoke. plumes of yummy delicious black smoke. half going up the chimney, the other half escaping in a cloud- right into my face. shtinking up the living room.

maybe i’m doing something wrong… er. what the feck can you do wrong really?

i’d be absolutely useless in the wild- while here… i have all the supplies at hand. dry matches and fire lighters… in the survival programs they show you how to get by with two pieces of wood. yeah right…

oh december, how you are a delicious treat of stress and anxiety leading up to such cheerful holidays. what with people running around trying to get presents in order- shipped off by a certain date. cards printed and addressed. blah blah blaah all the while crafting genius plans of how to make this season memorable and special with a sweet chocolate covered cherry on top.

mmm.

i haven’t done any christmas shopping as of yet.
i don’t send christmas cards.
why should bills be paid in december? i think they should wait and not bill you around this time. the assholes!
i still need to get supplies for gingerbread. to be all holiday festivities and warm cozy memories (pssht. really it’s just to cross it off that damn list i made. and.. to be sweet and memorable with my brother-in-law before he’s too old to want to do anything with me…sigh)
i wish that we were one of those fabulous couples who, despite being childless have THE BEST holidays ever. like… it’s just the two of them, so they plan a mini trip to paris for christmas. and wake up and eat croissants and drink hot chocolate. or plan a ski trip and stay in a cozy little cabin in the mountains, have fabulous sex all day, ski, and eat all they want. you knoooow there are couples who do that shit. unless that’s just the movies- or they have a lot of money.

…we are neither of those couples.

laaa i’m going nowhere with this.

i just thought i would write something different. because the draft that i wrote the other night is blaaah.. it’s poo. it’s depressing and weepy and wank. it’s just more shit that i don’t want to think about (fertility woes). so in  honour of avoiding it- i avoid everything.

and if i were to honestly talk about other things in my life, i’d tell you about twiddling my thumbs and staring out the window. because i do both great…

though, i don’t really twiddle my thumbs. who really DOES do that?

i look out the window… and i talk to myself.

let’s not forget how i repeat stories- so really.. i am an old woman at the heart of it.

last night i took  a sleeping tablet so i could go to sleep at a decent hour and wake up on time for a doctors appointment.
i set two alarms.

i woke up to turn them off… and then woke up again, 15 minutes before my appointment. argh!
i got dressed and even brushed my teeth and got there with five minutes to spare.

the doctor told me to keep on top of my weight.
perhaps he saw how squeezed into my skinny jeans i am?
maybe the big, shapeless sweater i threw on didn’t help either…

hmph.