Log in

Today my mother told me that I sound like I have slayed dragons!

The beauty of the phone is that she could not see that I was not wearing armour, nor covered in the gore of an ancient lizard of yore,
I was in fact, lying in my bed all greasy haired and unshowered, recovering from my week spent recovering from that sickness I had the week before.

We all came down with it! First Foletron, then Mull Man, Snack was already ill, and of course, yours truly (which is not my name. I do not have an endearing nickname. I will go un-named). Everyone in Cliffton Manner (which is a very nice name for such an ill-conceived and constructed student house - with an unused chicken coop in the paved backyard) became sick. We nourished ourselves back to health by eating Easter eggs and playing Fifa - (unless your a girl, no video games for you, this is a mans game, after all. ((Please note everything fun is a mans game here! If it is for a woman, it will be given an entirely new and ridiculous name. Yes, I am referring to Comogie through my foreigner lens)).

Back on topic: I burned out and got feverish then suffered burn out from the feverishness and what I'm really getting at here is that I am the opposite of a dragon slayer. I am a bedridden sloth.

Not true, if I was feeling particularily candid I would tell you all about my emotional turmoil which is what most likely led to the onslaught of fever, but I am not feeling candid. 

Suffice to say, that today, I learned about The Work - which is meant to be epically capitalized as its meant to be epically life changing.  I am looking for a loophole, for a say it aint so, because I don't think I want my sanity to be that clearly achievable! But there you have it.  In my interest of non-plugs, you will have to google it for yourself. Look up Byron Katie. (Whos name seems backwards and I like to assume that her parents were fans of 18th century poetry).

writing things down

This morning, around 6, after Dave and I had fallen asleep in front of a turf fire the night just gone, there was a repetitive tapping sound. Dave woke me up, "claire, claire, lookat that bird, whatsit doing" There was a black bird on the windowsill, closest to me, rapping its beak into the window, again and again. Not like a bird in flight that sees trees where a pane of glass is, but a bird determined that something was not what it should have been. The force of its beak attacks would send it reeling off the edge of the window sill but then it would hop back up again and keep smacking its beak into the window. Dave said it went on 30 minutes. I drifted back into sleep....

I dreamt that the bird broke through the window, started a small crack that spread up the window until it shattered apart, then the bird flew into the room, and darted up to the sky light, where it started smashing into the window just as it had the last. I knew it had a path and it needed to go this way and here we'd built a new roof where the old never was, never reached.

In the morning I wondered if maybe it was a faery, and we'd blocked it's path. Dave said it was obviously sick, probably had rabies. Do birds get rabies? The windowsill was dirty and so it had been there. I can't remember if I was able to help it through the skylight or not.


<input ... ></input><input ... >

Early morning after St Steven's Day

I am reading a book my mom got me for Christmas. It is by a woman named Lynda Barry. It is called "What It Is"
It says:

We don't create a fantasy world to escape reality, we create it to be able to stay. I believe we have always done this. Used images to stand and understand what otherwise would be intolerable.

Puppets at sea

I have watched this video half a dozen times today.

It gets all the right heart strings. For a lot of reasons.

When I graduate from theatre school, I would love to somehow find a way to apprentice with the Old Trouts.


The Circus is in Town!


We are performing tonight!

Nerves and Butterfly's Oh My!


Written March 8th

I am ridiculously busy right now and incapable of updating. Do you hear me? INCAPABLE.

This is what happens during my days that keeps me from talking to you, the inter-void:

Puppets: including, but not limited to - rehearsing, building, fixing, choreographing, designing, paper mache-ing, glue-is-everywhere, stapling, stringing, collapsing-behind-the-hand-puppet-stage-and-hiding.

Dishes: obscene amounts of mugs litter the kitchen, I drink a lot of tea.

Recycling: There is a formidable FORT of recycling on the fire escape, blocking any tenant on the fourth floor from ever considering using the fire escape for its intended purpose. (Naturally, the building of this fort is what keeps me from talking to you)

Conversation between you and me, dear internet, will resume after the puppets have performed their shows.

The courtyard and fire escape.

Despite living in the depths of a Montreal winter I remain a dedicated recycle-er.

3 flights of icy, wrought iron steps to brave:


Yes those are my footprints. And why yes I did feel like a raccoon, digging around in the snow trying to find the latch to the recycling bins.

Went out swing dancing tonight!

Step step rock step step step rock-step freak-out-cause-your-being-twirled step rock-step step step.

It was a great deal of fun.

The occasion was a friend from Ottawa was visiting, and her cousin is dating the guy that owns the swing club.  Its strange. I used to go camping with Melissa (the Ottawa friend) and her cousin when we were all something like 14 or 15. And now we're 20. Those are a long 5 years.


Smaug's 3rd cousin. Hoards Laundry.

Alright. I can't sleep. This could be due to any number of things (read: Claire slept through her first class this morning and now isn't tired).

So I'm going to clean my room like any good subject of OCD. (Don't worry, I am not that neighbour who uses the vacuum cleaner at this hour of the night. Because we do not have a vacuum cleaner in this apartment).

And because I have the internet at my disposal (which is, now that I think about it, a saying that does not make sense in this circumstance, as I cannot dispose of the ether), I am going to document my progress:

That is my nest. It's where I sleep.

This is reflective of my mental state.


Here is a bed. This was a surprise to me also. (In the corner you can see my Menomena poster and Bread and Puppet poster! Also, my nightstand is home to a dinosaur.)

And there is the floor!

The things I unearthed during The Excavation:

A 30 $ gift certificate to HMV
A banana (squished)
A sock that seems to have followed me upstairs from the laundry room (as neither myself nor my roommate wear socks THAT big)
A glue gun
A dragon
A calendar from Ireland
A 12 string guitar
An archery case

Thank you for the motivation Internet! I can officially pass out in my reclaimed bed.