Lock-Jaw

Recently, I've been drinking to ease the pain.

Now... I know what you're all thinking: you're thinking "But Dr. Sundance, you've got a great girl on your arm that makes you chicken soup when you're sick, gave you a stylish Swiss watch that matches your personality for your birthday, and is wickedly fun to hang out with." And you'd be right.

You're thinking "But Dr. Sundance, you've got a job you like, and you're making heaps of cash doing it. You've amassed more fetti in 6 months than you did in 3 years!" And you'd be right.

You're thinking "Most importantly, Dr. Sundance, you shouldn't drink to ease your pain, you need to delve into your problem and search out the source of your problem, and real that fekker down by its horns!" And you'd be partially right.

You'd be right in that that is the correct way to deal with those problems... but my pain isn't of the heart, it's of the head and jaw area. And I already know the source of my pain, I just can't do anything about it for another 2 weeks until I get back to Canada.

See, due to fact that I grind my teeth while sleeping, I have a problem with mytemporomandibular joint in the jaw. It causes neck, shoulder and headaches that are really really shitty. Every morning my jaw pops, and sometimes, I can't even open my food hole all the way.

On the plus side, I can never be called a slack-jawed yokle. I am from the farms, but I am most certainly tight-jawed...

The Collective Unconscious, or a Past Life

Last night I was a Japanese archer in the forest battling opposing forces. I'm not sure if I was Japanese or not, as I never saw my own face, but my army certainly was... as were our enemies.

It was a dream that started in my bedroom, or at least a place that I had the same sense of comfort that I do in my bedroom. In reality, it was like a dwelling of some sort that had three walls. The fourth wall opened down into a large forested ravine. I picked up a bow for the first time and tried to pull the string back with amazing difficulty.

I grew.

I became a warrior-lord wearing a beautiful set of armour. My bedroom became a castle with high fortified walls sloping down into the forest. I listened to the animals of my forest. They told me of the approaching army. I do not know the reason for their attack. The animals never told me that part. Animals can't read the motives of humans, perhaps.

I knew they were coming. I knew they were strong. But they didn't know I knew. I took a small team of archers down the ravine and sat in waiting. They approached unarmed, planning to attack later. They settled together in a basin of the forest. We had the high ground.

I drew back my bow with ease and remembered how hard it had been as a boy. I could feel the tension of both the bow-string and the decision to make the first strike in my chest. It was the feeling of power. My arrow was not pointed. Rather, it had a blunt cylinder attached to the end of it, though I have no idea what it was for. It looked like it should be lit on fire, but I never lit it.

Our opponents never had a chance. We were spearing fish in a small puddle as we sat safely up on the rocks.

I smell burnt toast.

Recently I've been smelling hockey rinks. I have no idea how to describe the smell of an ice rink (not the dressing room, I mean the ice itself) so I'm hoping you've been in one.

I think there is something about the crispness of the air lately. The morning chill that enters your nose at a seemingly quicker pace that warmer air; the way it fills the sinus cavity in your forehead, right between your eyes; the way the air contracts that cavity, then swells as it warms.

There is a smell that ice has that maybe only people who have spent many hours in hockey rinks can appreciate. It is clean. It is pure. It is glorious.

And I've been smelling it when I least expect it, bringing memories flooding back.

Perhaps I'm not smelling it at all, but rather remembering the smell and thinking I smell it. My trip back to Canada is approaching, and becoming more more real each day. Yesterday I paid for our tickets, and got my re-entry permit to Japan. Now the concept of being in Canada for winter is more a reality. And I've been thinking of how much I want to hit the rink when I get back.

I want to teach her how to skate, and yet, since it's been 5 years since I've strapped them on myself, who's gonna re-teach me?

Sweeeeet Dreams

Well, we've done it. We've bought a wicked duvet for winter, and let me say that I have not slept like this in a long time.

Went to look for a bookshelf, and ended walking out of the store with a $150 duvet. In the store I saw a Japanese duvet for about 40 bucks, and had that in hand when we walked past a duvet that looked like it was cascading down from the heavens. In reality, it was cascading down from a railing, and was made in China. Yup, no comparison, feeling that stupid Japanese duvet that doesn't really keep you warm cause it's too firm and doesn't curve to your body and is filled with pollyester or something. Quickly tossed that Japanese crap aside and grabbed the Chinese white duck down comforter that felt like labia to my fingers. Soft. Sensual. Comforting.

There was also a Russian white goose down duvet for about 400 bones, but figured the duck would do us fine.

Unbelievable - the sleeps I get now. Yesterday I went over to Karin's for a bit. The first thing she said when we walked into her room?
"I miss your blanket."

Chicken Soup for the Zikker

My girlfriend rawks!!!

So after a bit of a bender of a weekend that included a Korean wedding where yours truly was forced to drink for about 10 hours, I ended up with a right nasty cold from the third ring of hell. Immune system runnin' in the red, and being around kids at my part time job brought about this nonesense.

Yesterday was terrible, with my strength and conciousness draining through the workday. Took a bit of a nap after work, and went to my part time job. I had emailled her about how shitty I felt, kind of in search of sympathy, I guess...

So I get home about 9pm, all bundled in the great sweater moms made me a few years back, scarf and toque to keep me warm, but the idea of going into my cold, dark lonesome apartment had me in a bit of a down mood. And then what to I see? A candle burning from my livingroom window. Ok. That's a lie. I can't see my livingroom window from the street, but I did see her bike in front of my apartment.

So into the house I race to the smell of somethin' cookin', and her warm warm smile... which was laughing at me for wearing so much winter crap ;-) And there on the stove was a pot of home made soup! (if ever I regretted giving her a key... )

MAN, what a trip! That she came over to make a pot of chicken soup for me was golden enough, but to make things better, she tells me how she didn't know what to do for me, so checked the blog of this Japanese chick married to a Canadian living in Montreal, and on the blog it says foreigners like chicken soup when they're sick. HA!!! Stereotypes tend to piss me off, but not this time. So my thanks go out to that chick in Montreal, as well.

She was a bit worried that it wouldn't be "like mom used to make" but considering mom used to make Lipton's when I was sick (no offense, mom) and this home made bit of brilliance was brimmin with cabbage, onion, ginger and chicken, it would have had Oedipus writhing with jealousy.