Steamroller used to make french wood-block prints.
I’ve been planning this past weekend for weeks. It was going to be my super funtastic weekend, full of dancing, (finally), music, and awesome sauce, but I didn’t make it to anything. The Jazz Fest, FUSE, Stephanie’s birthday, the Workless Party party.. nada. Instead I was at home, feeling stuck, financially doomed, and not just a little agoraphobic. I’m terrifically lucky David was around. I hate to imagine what my weekend would have hypothetically been like without him.
As part of Silva’s move, I’ve been inheriting a lot of her things. Things that don’t necessarily have an easy place in my home, so I’ve been moving furniture and tearing apart the kitchen, moving more furniture, tearing apart my room, unpacking boxes all over the place, and generally being overwhelmed. My house, on Friday, looked as if it had been looted, raped, burned, then looted again. It was driving me utterly crazy, (very likely the sole reason I’ve felt so awful lately), so instead of going the the KRAZY FUSE which I’d been looking forward to for months, I spent the entirety of Friday night cleaning and organizing and tidying until the sun seared the sky into Saturday morning. When I woke up, it was passable, but I was exhausted, utterly burned out, too drained for my plans. (Especially as it’s still not done!)
Today I’m hoping to spend a bit of time with Silva, who leaves on Tuesday, and maybe drag myself down to Yaletown for the tail end of some of the free Jazz Fest shows. I’ve had Pink Martini playing all day. It’s helping.
“…raccoon carcasses have also been found in the west-end park and were deliberately posed.”