thisCassandra

Well, Not Well

I was able to turn off the light at 11pm last night, and I slept until 7:30am, past two alarms. More than eight hours of sleep and I was still tired all day. Am I getting sick again? Don't know.

I'm still coughing today, so I'm not really unsick yet. Getting there, but still a bit sick. I've been sick quite a lot since December. Yuck. I want wellness. I think I"ll go to sleep soon.

Good night.

.

Alarmed

The multiple alarms (clock radio set on CBC, obnoxious travel alarm) managed to wake me yesterday, but they did not manage to wake me today, the day before yesterday and the day before that. I'm alarmed by this apparent system failure. Maybe I should not have given the truly horribly obnoxious intensifying alarm clock away.

So I didn't go to class today. I have a follow up appointment with the opthalmologist/surgeon at 11:45, so I don't have to go outside for a little while.

I have gone up to the roof and I noticed that it's pretty much spring here today. Some, not all, of the plants are growing crazily. Those that have not/are unlikely to come back include the New Zealand Flax and the rosemary. I'm not surprised by the refusal of the rosemary to behave like a perennial, because I've never had any success with growing rosemary or, for that matter, sweet basil. No matter how I try.

Through the Day

Today I sat on my bed and slept. I dreamed of thisCastle being much larger and located elsewhere; thisCastle virtual had a room on the top floor which was as large as the footprint of thisCastle actual. I dreamed of finding heirs to the throne; I had chosen four - I thought they would be able to co-habit the place and each have her own room. Or they could sell it.

I had been trying to read about Gothic Cathedrals in the Art History text, those enormous entertainment venues - the Medieval equivalent of theme parks (Espiritu Sanctus-land) with multi-screen theatres (stained glass windows, mass) and video arcades (music) - but it wasn't easy. My eyes aren't quite right yet, so I drifted away.

When I woke up I went outside to hunt and gather - I found something I would never have dreamed of...green tea ramen. I bought some and I'm going to try it.

This was my fourth foray into the world since the surgery. It's beautiful outside today, chill and sunny, bright and crisp. Like autumn, but it is very good to be able to be at home.

That Flight: Strangelove and Snotboy & Lovergirl

That flight home from Montreal there was a two hour stopover in Calgary. I fell asleep, leaning far forward, forehead against the seat in front of me, and I had a dream, a nightmare of being anesthetized, like a patient etherized upon a table. In my dream I am connected to the people beside me in the row by tubes, our precious bodily fluids pumping in a circuit through the three of us. Our Purity of Essence makes us one...

When I'd arrived at the airport, I was told that I had a window seat, 23F. When I got to row 23, my rowmates were already seated, he sleeping in the aisle seat, and she sitting in the middle seat, awake and watchful.

He was a skinny, skinheaded boy, and looked a bit like a national front yob from Brixton. He was snoring gently, and his body was leaning forward slightly, head down, swaying gently to and fro. She was a First Nations girl, a bit older than he. She looked up, and I told her that I was their rowmate, and she reached over and pulled his head back so that I could get past.

He woke up a bit after I started to settle myself in my seat. Their eyes met, then their faces drew closer and met at the mouth, and they kissed, a deep, soulful, hungry, starving kiss. They traded more than a bit of spit, then he passed out again.

After take off, I looked over and saw that he was again leaning forward in his seat. He had a string of snot, a foot long, swinging to and fro like a pendulum, hanging from his left nostril. It had an amplitude equal to that of his upper body which was swaying back and forth again. She saw me looking at the snot and stood up, squeezed past him. She walked away, then came back a few minutes later with some toilet tissue which she used to catch the string of snot mid swing. She swiped it up and wiped his nose for him. In the middle of this Snotboy woke up again, and when Lovergirl was done cleaning his nose for him, they kissed again.

Deeply. Then he fell back into a deep sleep. If he was awake they were kissing. If they weren't kissing, he was passed out. Yum.

Breakfast arrived, and Lovergirl ate hers, keeping some of it for Snotboy. She woke him, they kissed, then she fed him his breakfast and her leftovers. After he finished eating there was another kiss. As deep and soulful as the others.

I like to sit in the aisle seat when flying, so while he was awake, I suggested that he and I trade seats so that he could sleep undisturbed if I wanted to get up and walk around. They agreed, and we all got into the aisle and then back into our row, him first. There was another kiss, then he passed out again...

During the stopover in Calgary I fell asleep leaning far forward, forehead against the seat in front of me, and had a dream of being anesthetized, like a patient etherized upon a table. In my dream I am connected to the people beside me in the row by tubes, our precious bodily fluids pumping in a circuit through the three of us. Our Purity of Essence makes us one.

In the dream, I believe that Snotboy and Lovergirl were planning suicide, and are planning to blow up the plane, taking all of us with them. In the dream, I sit up and shout, "No! I can't be on this flight! Let me off! Let me off!" In real life I woke up with my fists in the air in panic.

When the plane stops in Vancouver I get out as quickly as I can. While waiting at the baggage carousel, I see Snotboy and Lovergirl again. I am surprised to see that they are not kissing. What they are doing is glaring at me as though I have done something nasty, which leads me to wonder if I had been talking in my sleep

Oh well, talking in my sleep is not so bad considering some of the things that people do in their sleep.

Sleepin' With My ***** On

I stayed over the holiday season with my great friend Rob H. I slept on the couch, every night with my glasses on. He asked if I always did that, and I had to confess that, yes, I do always sleep with my glasses on.

Like many people, I read in bed before going to sleep. I used to make an effort to take my glasses off and put them in their case, then turn off the light and close my eyes for sleep. Then I started getting less sleep and almost always fell asleep mid-sentence, light and glasses on. I would usually wake up enough to turn off the light, but the glasses would stay. I discovered that I liked being able to look across the room and read the clock as soon as I opened my eyes, without pausing to put my glasses on, so I started always sleeping with my glasses on. I have never liked the vulnerability of not being able to see. Being able to see, to do this one ever-so-simple thing helps me to feel happy.

Wearing my glasses while sleeping is not good for the glasses, so I wear my old glasses when sleeping. I actually take my day glasses off and put my night glasses on. I put my day glasses in the case, close the case and go to sleep.

There is, I know, an obvious solution to this: extended wear contact lenses, but this is not an option for me because I have tried extended wear lenses, and I really dislike the dr-eye-ness on waking. I don't even like wearing regular contact lenses (though I suppose I could get used to wearing them).

There is, I know, another obvious solution: surgery. I asked my opthalmologist if it might not be a good idea to get surgery to equalize the myopia, but he, with good humour, refused to give his blessing. With good reasoning, he explained to me why I ought not to do this thing (too many risk factors). He helps me to take care of my myopic, diabetic eyes, and I trust him.

My glasses conceit is a trifle silly, I know. I used to know someone who slept each night with full make-up on in case of fire. Her name was Carole and she was the sister of an acquaintance. She also worked in the bank where my great friend Rob H. worked. Carole did not want to be seen out of doors without her face on. She was a trifle vain.

Sandman Wanted, Apply Within

During the week I wake up at 5:30 am. I find it tragically amusing that I went to bed and even turned off the bedside lamp before 11:30 pm, with full intention to sleep a full six hours, and I was still awake at 2:30 am, fretting about how much I haven't studied for my midterm. It was so bad that I forced myself to have an orgasm just to get my mind to shutup and my body to relax enough to allow myself to sleep. It worked, more or less, but I am not feeling much desirous of sex (not even sola) these days, so it wasn't easy going.

I am certain that, even after I got to sleep, my sleep last night wasn't restful. Exhaustion is catching up with me in leaps and bounds. Tragic.

I'm not sure if I'll be able to continue with this, though it's only until mid-December that I have to do course work for two courses; after that, it's only the art history (Western portion), and that I can do easily.

Annoying person encounter today in the art history 100 small discussion group: A young female showed up for the first time today. She claimed that she tried to get into the Web CT (on line course materials) but it had suddenly gone all garbled for her. Then she asked when the midterm was (Thursday) and then where the midterm was going to be. Now it's true that she might be a first year student, but how many midterms must she have written to have gotten herself to first year university? It really isn't that different from high school, on the day of the midterm you go to class and you get a midterm rather than a lecture. It isn't difficult.

I was so grumpy that the temptation to tell her the room number of the lecture theatre where we have our classes was hard to resist, but I was able to stop myself from articulating my annoyance.

Breathing deeply helps.

I'm just fretting because there's a midterm this week; I'm sure I'll be better after Thursday.

I aim to get some good studying done this evening and to get to bed before 11:30 again. If at first you don't succeed, try and try again.

The Optometrist and The Optimist

The appointment with the optometrist went well, he told me that the reason I never got used to the glasses I bought last year was that they were a touch too strong for me. He also told me that my prescription would likely change after the surgery, so I should wait until post surgery, get my refraction checked again, and get new glasses then. This makes a lot of sense to me, considering how much I spend on a pair of glasses.

He said this: "You're doing remarkably well for someone with all your conditions."

To which I laughed and said, "I'm one of the healthy unhealthy ones."

Then he said, "No, I mean, cosmetically, you look great."

To which I replied, "Yes, I've been blessed with good bad genes."

He laughed and said, "No-one gets off scott-free. It's what you make of it."

Earlier in our interview he had accused me of being an optimist. It is rare that I pass for an optimist.

After the eye check-up I went to the Museum of Anthropology for a class trip. It's an interesting building, jammed full of artifacts from various cultures. It is not user friendly.

Outside the Museum of Anthropology (after our class walkabout), Asher, one of my classmates, and I were talking about topics for our papers. He wants to write about Brian Jungen, but the TA said, "No". I want to write about the line between appropriation and representation, but I suspect she'll nix my idea too.

As Asher and I were parting, Gu Xiong, my artist friend who emigrated from China after summer 1989, rode up on his brown Norco bike. I am always happy to see my friend Gu and/or his wife and/or his daughter, and they are always happy to see me.

Gu is a master print-maker, and he and I first met when he was selling some of his woodcuts at a Christmas Craft Fair at the Western Front. I bought two beautiful prints over two craft fairs, the first an aerial view of a zigzag rickety wooden bridge with some people and a wagon crossing and some swallows flying over and water swirling below. The second portrays a gaggle of women at sewing machines sewing rivers of brightly coloured fabrics (an impression of which is in the collection of the Vancouver Art Gallery - so I chose well). These two prints are among the most favoured pieces in my art collection.

While I had been on walkabout in the Museum of Anthropology I had remembered Gu and his story: Gu has a Masters degree in Fine Arts from an institution in Shanghai, and when he moved here he got a job at the UBC cafeteria bussing tables. The bussing job inspired a great series of prints and paintings of piles of forks in the dishwasher, and dirty plates, and crushed pop cans. Gu is very jolly, and got work teaching printmaking in the Continuing Studies program at Emily Carr. After that he was hired at UBC as a print technician in the Fine Arts program, eventually becoming an assistant prof, then an associate prof and now a full professor. Not bad to work your way up from bus boy to tenured faculty.

Now that would take optimism.

After the museum trip I went to Alda's place. I didn't see her, but I hadn't gone there expecting to. I took my great friend Rob H out for a walk. On the way to the Cheshire Inn for light ale (him) and fries (mint tea for me), we went to Finn's to buy some sober pants for him to wear. We found some nice Hugo Boss fine black cords in the Arizona cut (low rider). At Cheshire Inn we talked about all the stuff that's going on in his life. He got to vent a bit, I hope.

One thing he said that was interesting was that not only did they (the four sons) have to deal with care-taking for their mother, but they had to deal with each other and their emotions about the situation, and additionally they had to deal with the emotions of everyone who came to see Alda. All of this is exhausting for them.

Speaking of exhausting, this morning I woke up tired. I can normally get up and be perky and functional having had less than four hours of sleep, but this morning not. It was like all of the sleep deprived nights came together to make a massive sleep deficit.

I recently met a friend of a friend who has insomnia and caffeine issues, and since then I've been thinking about my sleeping habits.

I used to go for three days running without sleeping. I survived on coffee and cigarettes and cheesecake and sporadic food. In particular I never slept the night before an exam. I always stayed awake and crammed.

Then, for years I wasn't able to stay awake, and would fall asleep at the slightest provocation.

Then I wouldn't sleep enough. Then I slept too much. Now I don't sleep so much.

These days I spend some entire days incredulous at how little sleep I get, and, yet, I am still able to function. I am able to sit in a class at 9:00 am, after having had four hours of sleep, and I don't fall asleep. Indeed I am able to absorb information and take notes, then go to work, and also to be civil to people. All this without caffeine of any kind.

Some nights I set aside seven or eight hours to sleep and sleep, and I wake up after six hours. I rarely sleep more than five hours per night, but it must be five hours of pretty good sleep.

I was a bit tough on one of the younger students in my painting class last night: her self pity and whining got to me, and I came down on her. I haven't come down on anyone like that in ages. She was annoying and for some reason I was grumpy enough to go for it. It must have been the dizzy spells.

I had another spell today, from about 1pm until about 6pm.They are becoming a continual state for me. I'd rather not be dizzy.

BTW, in case you were wondering, making turkey broth from the greasy carcass of a Thanksgiving bird has to be one of the messier culinary processes. There is no tidy way to do it. The grease is a nice hand moisturizer, though it does smell like roast turkey.

Motto: No matter how difficult something may seem, anything is possible if you have the right lube for the job.

Now that's optimistic.

Incompetent Positioning System: Ready If the Universe Is

I didn't really sleep well last night, but that was my own fault for falling asleep with the bedside reading/interrogation light on and being so tired that every time it woke me up and I thought "I should turn the light off", rather than turning the light off I just turned my face away from it and went back to sleep...and after a bit I would turn my face back towards it and it would wake me up again. This does not make for a good night's sleep.

Yesterday evening, Brian and I went to the Body Worlds 3 show at Science World, then for dinner at the dosa hut at Fraser and 28th, then to Queen Elizabeth Park to see the city lit for the night, then to Soma for tea. I had a lot of fun playing with the GPS in his car. In Canada his GPS is nearly incompetent...IGPS. For people who know where they want to go and how to get there.

Some of my friends seem to have clearer vision as to what is going on in my life than I have: Susana and I had dinner together at the Urban Buffet, and she told me all about what she feels is happening in my life. She said, "The universe gives you things and you have to be ready for them. Be ready, the universe is..."

I don't know what the universe is ready for, but I might be ready to catch if the universe is ready to pitch.

Sleeping, Not So Much

I didn't get enough sleep last night, but at least the sleep I got was okay. The night before last I woke up several times with my throat and palate more sore each time (allergies). Anyway, I'm pretty tired and need rest.

I've been doing research for Daryl, finding information about and reading about Savary Island. It sounds beautiful. I want to go there.

I want to go there in the 1930s, on a Union Steamship.