T is for two times two

That's right, two times two, which is four and does not start with t. 

I'm going to go through so many t words on this blog, it's going to be intense. Maybe we'll all learn new words. I've painted myself into an educational corner!

Anyways, I'm not sure if I wrote about it, I had a little break from blogging because of the job search and the writing of my novel. Yes it's still going to be tweaked a bit but now I have a list of agents I would like to query! Fufufu

Have you written something and have no idea what to do about it? Join the club! 

Writing in itself is easy, writing something of value is a little harder, writing something that others might value is a gift. 

But away from the stresses of work, four!

I know have four little ones parading around my house. What's that? Children you say? Nope! Hahaha

I'm sure I already shared Punkie, Harley and Rocky my three pets; respectively a bunny, rat and cat who we travelled across the country with. Fun. And got some strange stares for at the airport and then the hotel and then the apartment as we parading into the building with three carriers and a cage. Thank goodness this new city doesn't allow any pet deposits and our building loves all animals. You wouldn't believe how difficult that is to find.

And now! An addition! 

This....

       

...is Lyra. The thirteen-fingered kitten. Our little rescue kitten. 

Her previous owner was thrown in jail and so her and her sisters were abandoned in his apartment building. They were found in pretty bad shape but we took her in and I think she seems pretty happy. Affectionate and hyper, she loves bouncing around and snuggling up next to you on the couch or in he bed.

She's my first cat that belongs just to me.

I couldn't love her more.

T is for Tale: the second tale - Part 7

 Pock spent the rest of the day, weaving in between the rocks and fighting against the oceans pull with Read on his back. Reads legs were all at work: searching for feathers, collecting them, drying them by hanging the feathers off of Pock's dorsal fin, and all the while deciding on what would be the best way to tie them to his tentacles.

 The gulls and other birds squawked and screamed and laughed at the two swimmers. No one could fly without being a flyer, no one.  

 At the end of the day Pock dove down deep in to the water and brought up some heavy rocks to keep the feathers from flying away on their own. Read thanked him for the hundredth time that day. What would he do without his friend? He worried about how he would be able to see him when he was flying.

 "That's silly. You'll just come and visit me." Pock said when he voiced his fears, "We're friends, aren't we?"

 Read spent that night with all of his arms wrapped around Pock as he swam in his lazy circles. Even though he had never slept outside of a cave or jar, he was safe with his friend, and he fell asleep instantly.

 

 A loud bang woke the two up with a start. Pock dashed behind a rock when he saw the large dark shape above them.

 "What's that?!" Read whispered loudly to his friend.

 "I have no idea." 

 They swam slowly put of their hiding place and up towards the surface. But Read couldn't help but notice the trail of feathers that followed the falling object. That hadn't been a bird had it?

 When they broke the surface a cloud of smoke greeted them. Read coughed in surprise and plunged back into the water.

 "What was that?"

 "Smoke." Pock said, "Something is burning."

 "Burning?" Read asked.

 "It's when something becomes nothing. When you burn something it becomes dust."

 Read broke the surface once again and called up at the birds, "What's going on? Is everyone still something?"

 "Get away, swimmer!" A bird called, "Get away!"

 "Nowhere to go, swimmer!" Another screamed, "Its all your fault!"

 "What are you talking about?"

 "You brought the fire because we took the wings. You're a swimmer! Not allowed to fly!"

 Read looked at them confused and then gasped, swimming over the rocks that held his makeshift wings. There was nothing there. They had been stolen.

 "How could you!" Read yelled at the birds.

 "Not a swimmer!" One yelled.

 Read dove back into the water. His tears melting away into the salty warmth. Pock, however, could not be fooled.

 "What happened?" He asked.

 "They took the wings. And they say I brought fire." Read said.

 "Well if you did shouldn't they give them back?" Pock offered.

 "They've probably destroyed them. Those rotten creatures." Read said.

 "They're not rotten, Read. They just don't understand and they're scared right now." Pock said, "You have to give them time to accept that you want to do this. You have to show them that you can."

 "But I can't do that without the feathers." Read cried.

 "We shall collect more feathers." Pock offered. 

 There was a splash above them.

 The bird squeaked around in the water and hurriedly tried to swim back up to the surface. Pock glided his way towards the wriggling bird.

 "Spiky! Spiky!" The bird flapped its wings and wrapped itself tight int he seaweed that was floating nearby. 

 Read dashed forward this time, flyers didn't seem to know how to swim very well at all and he wasn't going to be rotten like they were to him. He grabbed the bird and pulled the seaweed off and popped its head out of the water all in one fell swoop.

 The bird didn't move.

 "Aren't you going to fly?" Read asked.

 "Must not move. The spiky will get me." It said, barely opening its beak.

 "Were you one of them who took the wings?" Pock asked, baring his several rows of teeth.

 "No!" The bird squealed. 

 "Then I've got no problem with you." Pock shrugged and swam off.

 The gull sighed and folded its wings properly. Read watched the sky with it for several seconds before he summoned the courage to speak to the flyer. He wanted to ask about his wings and about flying and about the air, but he knew what he should do and knew how he could do it.

 "I have a plan to help your friends in the sky."

T is for torture

Yes, torture.
I have never been so frustrated, or so forced to restrain myself from tossing my computer out of the window, as I have with the ever present torturous rampage of the password.
You may ask yourself. Huh? What does that mean? What's she on about now?

I'll tell you what I'm on about.
Passwords! Passwords to the never ending parade of websites that keep multiplying and multiplying, there is no end to the internet and there will never be an end to the new things you can find online but there is an end to the capacity my brain has to process it all and remember every single detail and fluctuation.
I tried, I really did -and I still do!- but can you honestly tell me that you have a completely different and unique password for every single website you are on? That you have a fluctuating password that changes every -what do they say it has to be?- week?!
How in the name of everything that is good and simple can anyone remember all that.

Mind you my passwords change probably that many times just because I don't remember the damned things and am constantly resetting them.
I just find it ridiculous that I start getting annoyed at resetting systems that aren't like other resetting systems and can't help me as well or as quickly.
I judging password reset pages against other ones!
There is no surer sign that this is getting ridiculous!

Sigh.... I realize this is an insane rant, but for those of you who like me do not posses a mind of infinite reaches but something more like a full sponge that when you learn something else (or put a password of a new website in for example), well some of the old information (i.e. old passwords) dribble out the other end.

It's hard to suffer from full brainspongia.

T is for Tale: the second tale - Part 6

Back to the blog! Sigh. Getting wrapped up in life is fun but can also be very tiring when you've got nowhere to unwind. Writing, when it isn't the novel, is such a relaxing thing for me so I'm back to Read and Pock. Sadly their adventure is soon coming to an end. 
But! I have a surprise when the story finishes.  

--"Why don't you get on my back and we can talk to them together. I don't want you to get hurt." Pock said.
Read smiled. He was lucky to have such a good friend and he knew it. Pock and him were a team. He swam over and wrapped his tentacles around the large dorsal fin and braced himself for impact as Pock rose up towards the rippling end of the ocean.--

  It was like being struck in the face by the most powerful current out there. Read gasped and wrapped every single one of his tentacle around the large shark beneath him. His eyes screwed shut and he was armed and ready to shoot ink at any creature that might have the indecency to attack such a terrified little octopus.
  He waited like that, squished down against his friend, unwilling to let for even a second.
  "Read," Pock said softly, "You're going to want to see this."
  Did he? Read didn't relax for a minute, but for his friend he opened just one eye. He relaxed every single muscle instantly.
  There were thousands of birds in every direction. Swooping and screaming and flapping their wings back and forth; building up speed and dropping down into the water before shooting out once again. Read watched wide-eyed and raised up two of his long arms as the bird swooshed by. The sweet new tingle of the air blowing past him shoot up his arms and made him laugh with anticipation.

 "I want to do that! I want to fly!" Read called out to the birds and Pock.

 "Fly?" Cried one of the birds, "Swimmers aren't flyers."

 "Yes, you can't fly without feathers." Squawked a seagull.

 "Swimmers will never fly, we're different." Another bird declared.

 Pock growled, "If we're so different, how come you can swim too?" 

 "We can float." A gull said, "You sink."

 "See?" The first bird declared, "Completely different."

 "But we've come all the way from the bottom of the ocean." Read said, dropping his arms. He looked at the long squishy members and then at the birds fluffy wings. That's what he saw in his dreams as well. The birds shook their heads at him, repeating their disbelief and flew off. The giant cloud of birds landed on the face if the rock, as soft and elegant in landing as they were in flight.

 "How do I get those arms?" Read asked.

 "Wings?" Pock asked, "If you ask me, you're better off without them. Those feather brains don't know their heads from their tails, that's what happens when you've got hollow bones. Hollow minds."

 "They have hollow bones?" Read gasped.

 "To fly. They need to be light." Pock explained.

 "I don't have bones at all! I must be able to!" Read exclaimed, "All we need to do is get me some feathers."

 "What are you going to do with feathers?" Pock asked.

 "We're going to make me some wings." Read declared.

T is for Tale: the second tale - Part 5

*Hooked you say? Goodness! Then for you my friend, I will endeavor to keep this story going properly even while I am writing the other. Priorities have made it so that I am now days away from being able to send my book to the agents and that is why my little writing spot/blog has been neglected.*

---Read's mind reeled at the very thought of it. A giant expanse of land like the bottom of the sea but without water, without swimming, just full of air and birds. He couldn't imagine anything that sounded more freeing. To be able to sail through the sky and still be on the ground like his home. He had been worried he would never see it again when Pock kept swimming upwards.
  "We'll rest today. Tomorrow we will look for land."

  Read spent the night dreaming of clouds and of sharks flying in the sky.---


Pock was swimming in the slow drowsy circles of his particular type of sleep when Read woke up. He was excited and invigorated by his dream, even more set on getting to the sky now. He wrapped his legs around the nearest rock and pulled himself out of the small hole he had found. Luckily he was flexible because otherwise his overly large head would not have fit.
He moved up past the sleeping shark and ran his long legs over the rocky wall as he slowly glided upwards.
There was a ripple ahead. Something wrong with the water. He couldn't see past the strange blur before him. What was it? He poked a tentacle at it and it was suddenly cold as ice. He dipped back in in shock and swam back down quickly. He bumped right into Pock.
"There's something wrong with the water. It feels cold and... Strange." he said.
"That's air." Pock smiled at him, "We've reached the island."
No. It couldn't be. Pock swam up and tentatively pushed a tentacle through the rippling water again. It was cold and... Something else. He moved the tentacle around and there was nothing stopping him from swaying it. Freedom. Air.
He pushed his tentacles up higher and something tickled them. Like a strong current it pushed them to the side but it didn't swirl like water, it enveloped like it was trying to lift and Read longed for that to happen.
He was just about to push through and chance a look with his own two eyes when something poked at his tentacle. He twitched. Something poked again. It hurt this time. On the third poke he pulled back and suddenly a sharp yellow object slammed into the water at his face and he yelled propelling himself backwards quickly.
Pock was in front of him in seconds and his large jaws snapped as he lifted his head and tossed the yellow thing out of the water with his round nose.
"What was that?!" Read exclaimed
"A bird." Pock said.
"The ones that fly?" Read asked flexing all his tentacles to be sure they were all still there.
"Yes," Pock said, "But they've never jabbed at me before. They eat small fishies like I do."
"Maybe they thought the tip of my tentacle was a fin." I offered, trying to give the flyers the benefit of the doubt.
Pock seemed unsure.
"Why don't you get on my back and we can talk to them together. I don't want you to get hurt." Pock said.
Read smiled. He was lucky to have such a good friend and he knew it. Pock and him were a team. He swam over and wrapped his tentacles around the large dorsal fin and braced himself for impact as Pock rose up towards the rippling end of the ocean.

T is for total

Do you write? I imagine if you are fascinated with the idea of someone documenting things on the internet that you would be interested in the way that they deliver these documentations. So I know that you like reading. Just one step away from writing really.
I really believe that anyone can write. It doesn't really matter if it isn't interesting or if it's something that you don't want to share with anyone, what matters is the action. The moment when you lay your pen down on the papers and the ink seeps into it. That minuscule second when you have to decide whether you are going to create symbols that will forms words that will create sentence and form ideas, or if you are going to start doodling tornadoes because it's your math book and you've been staring at the clock on the wall for about forty minutes now.

I wish everyone could write and read. Imagine how terrible it would be not to be able to read all those beautiful stories and images and ideas that people have written down, preserved forever.

I am at the very end of the last rewrite of my book. And then I'm going to send it out. It would be amazing if anyone read it really and if anyone does wouldn't it be great to talk to them? As a writer my imagination has no bounds so sometimes I imagine having lots of people read my stories. Don't you think you'd be so grateful for that? People actually liking some silly idea you formulated in your head? A story that you made up being appreciated and enjoyed by others.
 I think that would be a gift beyond compare.

T is for tabanid

Or more commonly referred to as Horse Flies (but that wouldn't fit with the theme now would it!)

It is hot.
Hot, hot, hot. You know it's hot when you're wiping parts of your face that you didn't realize could sweat and you are only wiping them because out of nowhere they are dripping bucketfuls of sweat on whatever part of your anatomy happens to be in the immediate vicinity. Or lower vicinity I should guess.
You know when you move to a city, any city in Canada really, but a certain city famous for having rude winters and such. You would infer, that it was not such a warm place. Though I had been warned of the heat so I knew it was coming and am sitting in the most scantily short shorts in the world and fanning my, well let's just call it a sports bra because it really doesn't cover much else, with a makeshift paper fan. But still!
Perhaps it's because I'm European, all our cold cities are cold constantly. I mean if you go to England or Ireland or Scotland or even Belgium and Denmark. Don't really expect to see much sunlight, if any. Movies are movies for a reason. And if you go to Sweden or Norway bring a pocket torch because no light pollution means no lights!
No, no, no that's as ridiculous as saying it's cold everywhere in Canada. But it is a reality that the North of Europe will be cold year round and the South will be warm until the dastardly cold wind currents set in and then you just have to hold on to your hair (ever wondered why french fashion women always have beautiful yet wild short hair cuts, SOLVED).
I'm coming to the realization that this post isn't really about much. But what would life be if it was just a succession of really important things?

I think the sale of stress release pills and attendance at such activities would skyrocket. 
But then again there would be something important happening at that activity or involving the pills....
Goodness it never ends!!!!!!!!!

T is for totally-in-the-zone

There is nothing better in this world than positive feedback on a project that you have been pouring your heart and soul into.
I have been writing a novel since I was somewhere around.... 17? I finished it when I was 19 and then school got in the way.
Now I have never been a fan of book clubs because I am a strange kind of reader; I don't like to be forced, I don't want to be rushed, everything depends on the book and what kind of savoring it needs. Some books are good to breeze through, some are so good that you fly through them too, some are intelligent and hard hitting and deserve a precise attention to detail, some are so thoughtful that you need to mull over every chapter or sentence and think about the taste of it, the feel of it, the way it was structured and the meanings it bears. Hence not being able to stick to a time structure made me wary of the idea BUT! In Vancouver I joined a meetup group called, Just Write and we did just that. We wrote. We sat together and for ten minutes had a chat and then for the rest of the two hours we wrote, in a coffee shop or a doughnut shop or wherever they had been able to wrangle enough seats. We all bought at least two items during the time we were there and the owners liked the peace we brought to the place. It didn't matter what you wrote or how you wrote, you were just with writers enjoying writing and getting enthused by the fact that they were writing. I loved it.
Hence when I picked up the book again to rewrite it and restructure it about 4 months ago I blew through the first chapters and am now almost halfway through a complete reboot to a story that is now much better in my eyes.

But I needed to get some kind of approval. Some kind of notion that what I was doing was good. So I gave it to the harshest critic I know, the one who -when she read the first draft- couldn't really get through it and ended up leaving it to the side. This was good though, you need a book to grab someone and you definitely don't want to have to force someone to read something to see whether it's good or not. You need to make them want more pages. And today, a couple days after I handed her the first sixty pages, she called to ask when the next ones were coming.
I cannot picture a better moment than when I saw a kind of incredulous smile creep along her face as she brought up the story. Her voice only strengthening her surprise as she admitted to really enjoying the story and suddenly realizing that she didn't have the whole thing.

I have never been happier. I've written enough pages today to convince me that this boost has put me in a zone that I don't soon want to drop out of. Something tells me however, that I won't. 

T is for tidbit

Woe is me the ever dulling sensations of an over indulged passion.

Gone is the unfortunate condolences of a pastime rarely passed.

Protected is the feeling of discomfort when reality strikes home.

Do you have a poet inside of your head? An idiot who comes up with dull one liners that wouldn't do much to the heart of a passerby much less create an atmosphere for an entire population. I like to talk to the poet when I need a piece of inspiring dialogue at a moment in a story. The story is epic, the plot line structured, that moment of dialogue is a second in the lives of a myriad of characters.
I wish the poet were more literate. Perhaps then they would be more worthwhile. But for now the poet is summoned for a cursory glance in a sea of words.

T is for test

Have you ever felt hopeless? Or even more beyond that. Have you ever been helpless?
There are situations where you are faced with a problem that has no solution. There are moments where there is no way out. These are moments that form precious parts of you, precious like the overrefined, pretentious affectations of a sullied mind. Those decisions that you make when you are at your wits end are usually those that you hide in your innermost being; unable to make up your mind about whether they were correct or it was just the easiest thing to do.

I have envied people that have had formative moments in their life, moments that they look back on and they don't appreciate for what they were. Something that outlined a part of their personality. A personality that is all the stronger for it. But now it hits closer to home. It hits where it hurts. Someone very close to me has fallen short at an important part of his life and... I am incapable of offering any help.

So I am helpless; I am not faced with the decisions to make up for the short comings, I am not burdened by the consequences either, but I am left to watch. Amputated. Removed of all my abilities but that of speech.
I was never really good at talking.

I love you.

Everything will work out.

Your distant friend,
Your ever-present sister.

T is for Tale: the second tale - Part 4

My sincere apologies on this post being late, it was written, it was saved, it was not posted. Errands are no excuse for such a lack of decorum. So I quickly post this now and ask for your forgiveness, though you may not be many to read it, you are a great bunch for doing so. Sorry for the shortness as well....


--- It was a long dark shape and as the rope was completely pulled away a low groan echoed through the waters. Read watched in horror as the water behind the shadow started twirling frantically in all directions and the giant slab of metal crept forth. ---

  "What's it doing?" he asked in horror.
  "You don't worry about that." Pock said, "You worry about the creatures that live on top of it."
  "On top? There are things living on that beast?" Read watched the metal ship move, wondering how the contraption that had only ever been a home for his friend was suddenly able to swim. 
  They hurriedly swam across the water, moving away from the giant thing and found themselves entering a field of boulders. Read bounced from boulder to boulder and found a nice hole to crawl into and feel safe for a moment. Pock swam in lazy circles around the break in the rocks to keep his friend safe.
  "It might be a good idea to talk to the birds." Pock said .
  "Birds?"
  "They are animals that swim in the sky. They call it flying." Pock explained, "They are the ones that swim with the clouds like in your dream."
  "We need to find some!" Read piped up.
  "They'll be near land." Pock said, "If we keep swimming with these rocks we'll come close to an island."
  "Island?"
  "It's ground, like the bottom of the ocean, but where the water is replaced by air." Pock explained.
  Read's mind reeled at the very thought of it. A giant expanse of land like the bottom of the sea but without water, without swimming, just full of air and birds. He couldn't imagine anything that sounded more freeing. To be able to sail through the sky and still be on the ground like his home. He had been worried he would never see it again when Pock kept swimming upwards.
  "We'll rest today. Tomorrow we will look for land."

  Read spent the night dreaming of clouds and of sharks flying in the sky.

 To be continued...

T is for tunnel

I don't really like the emphasis people put on such things as, "a dog person" or "a cat person" so I will instead say... I have had many more dogs and been closer to my dogs for a much longer time than I have to cats.
I have throughout my life owned (with my parents), a boxer, a golden retriever, another boxer, a great dane, a dogue de bordeaux, another boxer, a husky and a saint bernard. They were called Dina, Plato, Rascal, Merlin, Spacey, Athos, Eldur and Feanor.
Eldur and Feanor live in the family house in France.
Through all that time with all those animals I also had Ramses, Lucky, Leo, Lea, Seti, Figaro, Topaze, Teddy Bear, Urayus, Venus and Vivaldi. All cats. Only Figaro is still with us. She hates people.

I live in Canada, with my boyfriend and Rocky.
Rocky is a 17 year old, grumpy cat.
He is the greatest little creature I have ever met. But as a cat, is much harder to please.
So today I consider this a fantastic achievement.

T is for tedium

There is a part of a task that is like the B-roll of an editor's work day. It's not anything important, you feed it in when there's a space that needs taking up, it's an easy task and usually taken up by some fancy shot of a mountain or a bird or the view outside of a window or perhaps someone just scrubbing the floor.
The B-roll moments in life are what happens during that montage scene. We don't even amount to B-roll in these moments. We are the cut-away, the strip of film lost forever in a bin or given off to some ecstatic fan, glad to own the unwanted moments of another person's dream.
What I'm getting at is that I'm in one of those moments, but it's getting ruined by sunny feelings and the comfort of a good book.
It's strange... Feeling glad about some little action just because you are in a positive place, and even if you have a thousand more things to do.
The Boy and I are in that moment of unpacking that you've reached 'unpacked' days ago but not everything has a place. Mainly because you haven't been able to buy that one piece of furniture (i.e. the bookshelf) that keeps almost all of your personal effects at bay. Yes, we abandoned all but the books and the beasts, because neither are something you can purchase without fully adopting them.

I feel like everything is crying out to me that it wants to fit in to its own little place but IKEA is a 30$ cab drive away.
*sigh*
First world problems, as they would say.

T is for trade

I imagine many have the same problem as me. Or at least I think they do. Do you ever read those blogs about mothers or some such and they have some kind of problem and they explain that some days are hard. I am completely incapable of reading those at the moment. You want to know why? For the same drawn out, upsetting, headache inducing reason that the internet is filled with people wasting time here.

 These women or men, either have or are married to someone who is bringing in money.

Finding a job (in the area of your choosing) is almost completely impossible these days. Some would argue, you're not looking hard enough. But you know what? You know what I just want to yell out to the universe when people say these things?
OK! Alright! You've convinced me. You've convinced the person that has no idea what in the name of everything they are doing. If I had any idea of where to look other than the places I am looking at the moment, I would! Please explain, tell me what I can do to work harder at this because I will.
See the problem I think it is, other than the fact that there are way too many people that never quit their jobs in North America hence there are never any open spots until someone screws up but since the economy is tight everyone just walks on egg shells and the ones that do screw up are the ones that take risks and ultimately become the owners of the company anyways!

*breathes in* 

What I think one of the problems are is that after you get out of University or whatever learning area you were in. That's it. You learn, you are given a diploma, you walk out of the building, and there you are. You know more, you have more experience on projects (but not the experience that gets you job credits) and you are older than before you went to that place of learning. 

And that's all. That's how you come out of it. 

Then you do what anyone our age would do. Go on the internet.

"Oh there must be something under Jobs, my city, my awesome area of expertise" 

We are not currently searching for any new applicants.

"Hmm, let's go to the little known page 2 of Google!"

There are no openings at the moment.

"Alright then... Jobs, my awesome area of expertise"

Have you worked for 7 to 10 years in the industry creating such amazing work that even the Gods in Olympus weep at the very sight of you.

"Well no."

Then sorry but we have no openings at the moment. 

At one point I wonder to myself, how can they need so many senior people? They have people working there don't they? Make them senior and then make me the new person. 

It seems perfectly logical. 

We're looking for someone who has experience so they can give us something new and vibrant.

"Wait wait wait. Someone who has been in the business of whatever for that long has surely fallen into certain routines. Wouldn't something new come from a new mind? One untarnished by doing something for so many years?"

Well we don't want it to be too different because that would be taking a risk and we don't do that.

"Ah."

*cue curling up into a sad heap and scrolling through reddit, hoping for some kind of laugh*

*play with cat a bit*

*contemplate becoming something with less experience needed*

*realize you're a weak person who can't do any of those actual man jobs*

*cry like the sad artist that you are*

T is for Tale: the second tale - Part 3

---As he propelled himself to the exit, the big dark shadow of the giant fish loomed over Read.
"Read. I'm thirty one years old. You are the closest thing I've had to a friend ever since you were hatched." Pock declared, "If you're going up to the surface. I'm going with you."
Read's gleaming, bulging eyes, gleamed as he looked up at his old friend.
"Thank you."---

Although Pock was short one fin he was still a fast fish, all sharks could be fast if they wanted to, and Read had to clamp down every single one of his legs around Pock's dorsal fin.
"You better get ready." Pock said softly, gliding to the side quickly and hiding in the shade of a rock.
"For what?"

Suddenly a giant wave of ropes erupted into through the water. Read had never heard such a sound, it had come from above. A rustle like something breaking the water itself.
The ropes were all crisscrossed into a net. He had seen much smaller pieces down in the metal wreck Pock lived in. The net pulled closer and suddenly it closed in on itself. Read cried out in shock as all the fish swimming inside of it were squashed together.
"Pock!" Read called, "What's happening?"
"They are being hunted. By the ones who hunted me." Pock explained.
"We have to help!" Read cried as he bolted through the water, propelling himself towards the thick ropes.
 "Help!" A little halibut sobbed from just beside Read.
The young octopus jumped back quickly. The sharp little teeth gleamed through the tight rope that was dragging the cloud of halibut up to the end of the water.
"Please!" Another halibut cried.
Read hesitated. He had lost a few of his siblings to halibut... But this wasn't the time to think of that. No fish deserved to be hunted in masses like this.
"Pock!" Read cried, "I can't break the ropes!"
The hesitation in Pock's eyes was evident as he stared out from his hiding place but as Read wrapped his long legs around the ropes that tied up his natural enemies, Pock had no other option but to blast forward.
It took only a second for the rows of teeth to rip straight through the lines and the halibut poured free. Pock immediately circled around Read and opened his mouth wide as the halibut jumped at the little octopus.
"No!" the little halibut that had spoken to Read cried, "We need to leave now!"
The cloud answered without a word being spoken and dove down into the depths of the water. Through the giant cloud, resonating on the walls created by the giant flat fish, Read heard the distant call of thanks from the little halibut.

"Are you sure you still want to go up?" Pock asked.
"Yes."
"We wait till the metal belly is gone." Pock pointed up to the shadow off in the distance.
It was a long dark shape and as the rope was completely pulled away a low groan echoed through the waters. Read watched in horror as the water behind the shadow started twirling frantically in all directions and the giant slab of metal crept forth.

To be continued in: the second tale - Part 4

T is for tail

Today I just wanted to share my little loving family because well... isn't this just the cutest picture ever?

Ps: Harleen Quinzel - Rat ; Rocky - Cat

T is for tools

You know what I love? Seemingly unimpressive objects that have a great purpose.
You know which object I love at the moment? Bluetac.
I'm sure everyone, everywhere, has used this amazing reusable adhesive at some point and isn't it a wonder? This is the beginnings of the wall in front of my writing place (hem... the dining table... hem hem *cough*)

This was apparently a message of appreciation. 

T is for terrible

Have you ever ruined a dish.
I just did...
I ruined it completely.
It was an egg, then it was scrambled.
They were hash now they are smashed.

I ate it like a caveman as well.
Their disassembled look making me lose all decorum.
Ironically it wasn't badly cooked,
I just didn't have any cooking tools.
It tasted OK.

I feel like a failure...

T is for Tale: the second tale - Part 2

---Read woke up with a gasp. That was it, that was what he had to do, he had to swim with the gusts and the white smoke! He had to experience that again!---

Read spent days upon days researching - going to every elder he could find and every species he could find - trying to find clues, answers, anything that could bring him back to that feeling of lightness. 

"It's called air." the Great White shark whispered.
"What?" Read exclaimed.
His searches and travels had finally brought him to this abandoned place. In the darkest recesses of the ocean, down where the bright fishes of the everlasting night swam, there lay a wreck. It was a giant metal contraption, he had been told that it came from far above their waters. His mother had pulled their homes from that wreck and it only seemed apt that this should be the place that lead him to his ultimate destiny.
The Great White, who usually went by Pock, had always felt a good connection to Read; especially seeing as they shared names that were objects. Great Whites didn't really like being alone, they usually swam around looking for other sharks or seals and such. Pock wasn't like that, he liked staying in one place, not seeing to many and living off of the bare minimum. Pock was covered in marks and scars, he had never explained to Read why or how he had gotten them. Today that was going to change.
"That feeling, the one in your dream, that was the feeling of air or 'wind' against you." Pock explained.
"Wind..." Read repeated, trying to feel the words in his beak, "What's wind? Where can I find it?"
"You don't want to find it boy." Pock said, his voice was a low growl, a disturbing sound if any to hear from a Great White.
"Why?!" Read growled in return, "I've been looking everywhere!"
"Because wherever there is air... There is only pain." Pock snarled. His tail twitched as he swayed to the side.
Read fell silent.
The scars that covered his side traveled all the way down to his tail and cut one of his fins off. He relied mostly on his one fin and his tail for travel. It was lucky that he had never wanted to travel with other sharks, he wouldn't be able to now.
"You mean... You got those scars... In the air?" It couldn't be. It seemed like such a paradise.
"It has nothing to do with the air. It's what lives in it!" Pock howled, "There are creatures that you couldn't imagine. Creatures that are more cruel than you could even imagine... Creatures that create monsters such as this." he waved his one fin at the metal contraption that surrounded them.
 The drifted in silence, only the groans of Pock's demons piercing the oppressing silence.
"I still..." Read muttered, "Pock. I need to see it."
The giant fish looked down at the small, large-headed cephalopod mollusc.
 There was a silence. A silence that you can only get in the deepest darkest depths of the sea. A silence that can only seal the most wholehearted understandings.
"It's above us." Pock finally said.
"What?"
"The air. The sky. The white clouds that drift around with the wind. They are all the way up at the end of the ocean." Pock explained.
Read nodded firmly, "Thank you."
As he propelled himself to the exit, the big dark shadow of the giant fish loomed over Read.
"Read. I'm thirty one years old. You are the closest thing I've had to a friend ever since you were hatched." Pock declared, "If you're going up to the surface. I'm going with you."
Read's gleaming, bulging eyes, gleamed as he looked up at his old friend.
"Thank you."

To be continued in The second tale - Part 3

T is for Tale: the second tale

There was once an octopus named Read, it was a very strange name for an octopus, in fact it was a very strange name to anyone. Can you imagine being named after a word?
Read was named that way by his mother because when he was born he swam straight to the wall of their home and stared at the letters that were written there.
"You'd think he could read." Mrs. Octopus's friend Mrs. Ray had remarked with a giggle when the new mother had told her about it.
"That's what I'll call him then." His mother decided. Mrs. Octopus hated coming up with so many names and she was, after all, a very practical cephalopod.
As Read grew up he noticed that there were very many things he did that were strange. He didn't quite swim like the others and his head, though it pains me to say it, was enormously large!
He Read had the largest head off all the octopuses, and it wasn't even a large back of the head, that was found quite attractive, no, his beak was too big and hence he had lots of floppy, slimy octopus skin.
This made Read go to his mother one night.
"Mother. Why am I so different?" He asked.
His mother thought.
"We'll maybe you're meant to be different."
"How can you be meant to be differen?." He asked.
"We'll perhaps you have to do something different from the rest of us." She said.

Read thought about this day and night and finally, one night, something happened that had never happened before -to Read or any other octopus- he had a dream.
In the dream Read was swimming, but as he swam the water around him turned and spun and blotches up it became white and he gasped when all of the sudden something blew up against his face.
Read woke up with a gasp. That was it, that was what he had to do, he had to swim with the gusts and the white smoke! He had to experience that again!

To be continued in: the second tale - Part 2

T is for T

Yes my friends, T is most definitely for T.
It's the day. The day of obvious things getting done for the obvious reason that there is no reason to put them off anymore. I realize that was a very strange sentence and that was on purpose. There are so many evident and apparent things throughout life that the only way people create drama is by building a strange construction around it.
   A strange sentence, an unreal reasononing, a fictional character.
"So sorry I can't do that today, I have to wash the dog/car/baby."
"The word processor engince wouldn't collaborate with the unwinding engines of the machine that creates impressions on wooden shrapnel. So the deliberations will need to be repeated in a subsequent time frame, my apologies."
"Sorry, I need to find myself."

You know what these all have in common??? An apology. An empty word, expressing an even more empty sentiment. You know as well as they do that most days are days when things can be pushed back. When you don't feel like doing the extra leap.
Well today. Tomorrow. Find a day that is that day. Just one day in a week or in a month. I find that there is a great relief in a day like that. A day that you get things done. Because after that day, for the rest of that month or week, there is nothing to do anymore. There are no pressing things that you should really remember. And that relief creates a serenity that gets all of the work done faster and better.

ADVICE: Sometimes I ramble a bit.
                 (not really advice)

T is for tantrum

I agree. Tantrums are something childish and ridiculous and not something that a civilized adult should be having. But sometimes. Sometimes.... You just need to have a good old fashioned nerve breaking smash or yell or something of that kind.
The Boy and I like to yell at each other, having a reasonable conversation about mundane subjects but in a loud voice.
"How are you doing today?!" he bellowed.
"Good! I'm feeling nervous about this interview!" she screamed.
"Don't worry!" he hollered, his face turning a purple-ish tint.
"Thanks!"she screeched.

Today I smashed some of the packaging material. It was a hulk moment I admit. But stress levels were soaring.

*sigh*

ADVICE: Having a good natured fit is better than saying something you might regret. 

T is for Tetris

It feels like a giant game of Tetris at the moment. Really it does.
Hmm? Oh, sorry, I'm talking about the move of course. See? Even my exposition has gone straight out the window. The window that I need to clean........ Sigh.
Really. A giant game of Tetris.
There's a moment in unpacking that just feels like a big mess. Not that you're moved or that you in the process of moving or in the process of unpacking or that you are unpacking. It just feels like a big mess. That you've made. And you need to fix it. Oh and also find that job. But make sure that we have something to eat tonight. And tomorrow. Oh and it's bed time now so you'll just have to push all those things to do to tomorrow.


*sigh*

T is for Therpeutic

  There is something therapeutic about our situation at the moment.
  You know how you can spend days not really doing anything, even when you are doing something? You go to work, to school, to do whatever it is you do and you just go with the flow of what has become a routine day, without really thinking about what it is exactly. You find yourself back at home, staring at a screen of some kind or reading that same line of your book over and over until you give up and put it down. I'll just stare off into space at moments like that. Moments where there is no time or things to do or anything pressing.
  There has been no allowance for moments like that in the last two months. The Boy and I have been working solidly throughout them to get this move done and everything organized correctly. So suddenly, as I unpack, I find myself lulled into a sort of mesmerized state. I unwrap all the Boy's trinkets and toys with a slow sort of universal comprehension.
  There's something poetic - as well - about playing your piano, surrounded by the debris of an uprooted address. Like a familial warzone pierced by the melancholic beauty of a lonely intrument.

  In any case, good progress has been made and I am confident in saying that it won't take but a day or two more before we get this place sorted out.

ADVICE: Life isn't a race. Relax.

T is for T******

I... can't.... see. Can't......... breath.... Must find way out of all the boxes.......


Argh.......

*cough*

*hak*




ADVICE: Don't move...

ps: the Wednesday tale is postponed until I can climb out from under these three couches. 

T is for Timeportal

   My dearest Friend,

I write this message to you not from the confines of the bedroom, staring blankly and squintingly at the tiny images on my smartphone, but instead from the comfort of a chair and the brilliant screen of a laptop placed atop a table. Yes my friend, you have guessed ever so correctly. I now have access to the brilliance of an actual internet connection -that which connects us not only to each other but to the knowledge of past and future!- and the repose of a proper sitting area.
Yes work can be done now, people can be chatted to, think of all the possibilities and more! I cannot contain the excitment I am feeling and will no longer bore you with the details.

Yours Truly,

Tea

T is for timeslot

Funny how things move when you're waiting. I was scribbling away at the weekend newspaper, trying to find a four letter word across, when the Boy marched in declaring that -they can put a robot on Mars but they can't figure out these damned times?!-

Old fashioned but to the point, he has a way with words that never ceases to entertain me.

Yes, we have been waiting all day for the movers to arrive. Ikea arrived in its allotted time but that was from 9-1pm which in itself is a bit ridiculous of a slot.

Why do they do that I wonder? Imagine how little we would get done if our friends said let's meet around 12-4pm.

ADVICE: if you've made plans with someone, honour them. If you really can't show up, call in advance! All of these things would be muchly appreciated.

T is for taxi

People underestimate the adventures you can have with a good, or just insane, taxi driver. There are many a story born from my trips in taxis, some from the vast number of taxis taken in one day, some from something that happened while inside the taxi or just outside of one. But today it was the taxi driver that made the trip that much more entertaining.

I always kind of wonder about people that live through stereotypes, this man did, and it was hilarious in the confines of the taxi. It was kind of like being polite with grand-parents while they say things that were acceptable in their time and just aren't anymore.

Our taxi driver slammed out every stereotype alive and grinned such a broad grin and laughed such a wide laugh that I couldn't help but grin at it. It's strange to hear real life situations with such an intense twist on them. Hilarious though it may be.

There were the five Jewish men, fighting over which way would be cheaper, begging him never to stop moving but trying to make sure he took the shortest/cheapest route possible. The mind numbingly boring ones that make him zone out so bad he sometimes takes the wrong road. The fighting couples that are upset at everything and never tip. The Asians who he doesn't understand (yes he grouped up all the Asian communities together even though I'm sure he understands Indians and such).

Life's an adventure when you drive every day. A crazy stereotypical adventure.

T is for thought

Whenever I see anything that seems a little bit strange I always attach a story to it. I'm sure I'm probably giving them much more thought than anyone else but isn't it great to create something out of a moment that no one else would?

Stories like that make me think of scrap art and such, everyone else walks by but you create an image, something special, something worth taking note.

I always wonder if other people do that. If they are seeing things that I'm not seeing, if they are getting a glimpse into a completely different world. I hope so.

ADVICE: Everyone sees things in a different way, even the way things taste are different to people, try to keep that in mind at all times. It might make you appreciate more things and understand more people. 

And on top of that it makes listening to people about things that passion them much more enthralling, no matter the subject.

I guess this is more of an opinion than advice. My sincere apologies friend.

T is for three

   

  T is very much for my three little darlings. This has been an intense trip for all of us but definitely a harsh travel for the two oldies, our tiny lady however, traveled in style. I have never seen an animal so unaffected by travel, if anything she was excited about it. 

ADVICE: Bring as many animals as you can with you in the plane. Like carry on. But don't worry about your rat, they can handle anything.

T is for tumultuous

   The definition of tumultuous is excited, confused or disorderly. I have to admit it is every single one of those at the moment. Just failed trying to buy a matress, just finalized the paperwork for the apartment, just got caught in the rain, just started crying in the middle of the street because we are spending more money that expected. Yes, crying. In the middle of a Montreal street. Sherbrooke, I think.
   Oh the ridiculousness of it all! It's an intensely humbling feeling to have to turn away from the Boy, trying to keep him from being worried only to have him wipe away the tears a few moments later. I really couldn't ask for a better partner, my buddy cop, me compadre, the rock to my ocean of emotions. But we have an apartment! That is what should be pulled from the experience!
Huzzah!

T is for Tale

  I must admit, I am an aspiring writer. But you knew this of course, you always knew.
So I decided to dedicate Wednesday to tales. I used to enjoy spending my nights in the Christmas months telling stories to my little brother and his entertainment was always a fantastic return for the effort of coming up with something new every night. No matter how silly.
So I will share with you the silliness of my childish mind so that perhaps you might be entertained.

The tale of the sea

Once, in a place not so far from you, there was a pirate. He looked quite similar to you as well. He was short and smart and he was much younger than all the other pirates, but he was the captain - and there was one very good reason. The captain could talk to the sea.
You might wonder how he did it. The pirates surely did as well. But he never told a soul. So it was a mystery when he could sail straight into a storm and come out unharmed, the water never having touched him. A puzzle when he steered into a waterfall and landed in the rushing water below, not a scratch on his boat. A conundrum when he could pull his sails down and still reach his destination, his boat carried by the waters that he knew so well.
The captain was loved by all pirates even if he wasn't a pirate at all. You see pirates roam the oceans for gold and treasures but the captain, all he wanted to do was explore. He would smile and shake his head when treasure was offered, telling the pirates that he had enough with just the sea.
And so it was, one sunny morning, that the captain sailed into the last bit of sea that he had never spoken to. The sea spoke to him and he listened and as he turned back to his crew he whispered,
"This is the last part of the sea. My travels are finished." And he stepped into his room.
The captain was a quiet man, he had spent all of his time listening and never speaking. He wasn't sure what to do when there was no more sea to listen to. He spent all night and all morning and all night again thinking of what he might do until he heard one small whisper drifting through his window.
"There is one part of the ssssea, you have not seeeeen." The voice washed into the room.
"A part I have not seen?" He asked.
"There is a triangle in the sea." The voice swayed across his desk.
"A triangle in the sea you say?"
"That will be the end of your journeyyyy" the voice sung softly.
The captain wondered what this could mean. The sea was mischievous and dangerous and he had learned long ago not to listen to the whispers that tempt you, or scare you, or make you feel sad. Those are the whispers that can only hurt you if you listen. But he knew that if he did not, then they would stop whispering and only the good voices would speak.
He didn't know if this voice was good or bad. It was a mystery, and everyone knew that mysteries were the captain's favourite thing.

To be continued...

T is for Two

  Things in twos are happening aplenty. There are two of us moving to our new home in Montreal, this is home number two for us, this relationship is going on year two (vaguely but I was running out of twos).

There are many feelings that accompany you when you embark on a new journey.
In stories they will mention the beauty of adventure and the thrill of the new, a vague reference to how scary these new things might be. But then the scariness is something great and wonderful too.


In keeping with this being a truthful little writing spot to look back and (hopefully) laugh emphatically at, I need to shed some light on the experience of moving.
When you move you are excited at about two moments:
-when you decide to move
...
-when you have finished all the unpacking and don't ever have to look at another box until you get it in your head that you actually want to do this again.

We are currently waiting for the movers who are arriving late, waiting for the apartment that is ready late and waiting for my consigner to sign the lease.


ADVICE: Let me offer advice for anyone who is venturing out into the world. Please venture out in advance and find your apartment ahead of time, it will save headache and expense. Though you might miss great little reunions like the Boy surprising me in the hotel room.