Hey internet,

so I've been on the road since the first week of June. Before that was Harbour Water Fest 2.
Both events have been incredible, but I'm not quite up to writing about them yet.
Be patient!

♥ Riot

Box-cutter Haircut #1

So, at 23 years of age, I am finally putting out my first zine.

 (Well, first real, solo zine. I'm not sure if the Thom Thom Colouring Book really counts).

It's all about my relationship with my body.

And my eating disorder.

Heavy stuff (oh god, no pun intended!).

I have most of it written up, so now it's all the cutting and the gluing and the colouring backgrounds in black.

Thanks, a solid week of rain, for finally kicking my ass into gear.

Woah, I have had such a productive day that I don't know what to do with the rest of my week.

I got up and went to work this morning, and even though I was only there fro 9:30 - noon, I got some shit done and made some money and it was a way to get me out of bed before 11.

Once I got off work I went to the post office and mailed a couple of things that I've been procrastinating on. It makes such a huge difference that there's a new employee at the post office, the guy that used to work there was a complete asshole. Who knew that little things like post office employees would make such a huge difference?

Once I got home I finished up both posters that I've been working on; one for a film screening and dinner that Molly and I are putting on (a fundraiser for Food Not Bombs' new community garden plot) and the other for the Harbour Water Fest 2 workshops. I'll probably scan them later so that everyone in the country will wind up flocking to Halifax to learn how to pick locks and become self-employed!

While I was waiting for Anchor Archive to open so I could use their photocopier I ran to Quinpool and rented the movie that we're screening next week, picked up a phone card, and bought some wort so that we'll have beer for Harbour Water!

Then I went to Anchor Archive and printed off a bajillion posters whilst ignoring the dudes volunteering there. Of course it would turn out that both volunteers were people that make me extreeemely uncomfortable.

Right after that I went to Bike Again to see if I could finally get a bike that suits me/fits me. Since my bike got stolen last summer I've tried a couple different bikes, but the first one was a piece of shit and only 3 speeds, and the second one was way too small and had shitty handle bars. I worked for close to an hour on a shiny black road bike (an All Pro? I've never heard of them before. Google says they're shitty k-mart bikes from the 70's. oh well!). I always get super self-conscious before I go to Bike Again and I'm always worried that I'm going to need to ask people for help and get all embarrassed, but whenever I actually find a bike and start to work on it I'm usually pretty comfortable. Tonight I was able to raise the seat, adjust the handlebars, and trim the gear cables and casings (for some reason they were outrageously long and hanging off the bike). Next time I go, all I'll really have to do is see if the tires hold air and maybe adjust the back brakes and rear derailleur. If I keep on this ultra productive roll, then I'll be able to finish the bike by Friday and attend my first Critical Mass of the year. Fingers crossed.

I feel good about the things I did today. I'm self conscious about my bike mechanic knowledge, my photocopier capabilities, and my brewing abilities, but I just fucking went for it. Even though an obnoxious dude had to get the paper to stop jamming in the People's Photocopier, things went pretty smoothly. I also don't usually like going places alone, but I really wasn't up to hanging out with anyone today so I bit the bullet. 

Go team getting shit done!

Bonnie

Some evening last week I was walking home along Gottingen street.
For those not familiar with the area, there's an abandoned department store on the block nearest my street. It's been boarded up for as long as I can remember, and is usually covered in posters and graffiti. Recently they've started cleaning it out so they can tear it down to build housing (they claim 50% is going to be reserved for "affordable housing", but I'll believe that when I see it).
Anyway, my eye was caught by a poster on a phone pole as I was walking past the building. While I was reading the poster, I noticed one of the "doors" (really just a giant slab of plywood) shift, and a woman emerged. I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was white, probably in her late 30's, and had a travel mug and was wearing a lanyard with an id tag around her neck. I guess you could say she looked pretty normal. Except that in addition to her travel mug, she also had a can of spray paint in her hand.
Trying not to stare, I watched her slide the plywood closed again, saunter over a couple of feet, and paint something on the building. She then capped her can, and walked past me down the street.
A couple days later, I went back to see what it was that she had painted.

Fuck yes.

It's Easter Sunday, and that means...

OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH, YOUR FOLLOWERS ARE BLIND! 

TOO MUCH HEAVEN ON THEIR MINDS! IT WAS BEAUTIFUL BUT NOW IT'S SOUR. 

YES IT'S ALLLLLLLL GOOOOOOONNNEEEEE SOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUURRRRR!

Easter =  only holiday that I celebrate via rock opera

adventures in being a house punk

When I get anxious, depressed, flustered and so on, I find that what I tend to do is just hole up alone and stare off into space. I avoid people around me, neglect my immediate surroundings, and usually just dwell inside my own disturbed mind.
This is why one of the best ways for me to work through these bad times is to work hard to come out of my head and work on the space that I inhabit. Cleaning, building shit, fixing shit, etc. It's a real struggle to get to the point where I can start this kind of work, but if I can pull myself together then it's excellent therapy.

Today I'm finally starting to muster myself. I didn't make it as far as getting up to go to the food bank, but because Cory just moved in and needed a key to the apartment I found myself in Canadian Tire this morning. I figured that since I was there, I should get a new hinge for our toilet seat/lid since one of ours is broken and the fucking thing slides around all the time. While hunting for the hinge, I also found shower curtain liners and figured it was time to replace ours, which is so fucking mouldy that taking a shower is an exercise in making myself as small as possible so it doesn't brush up against me.
Cory ended up actually paying for these things out of a desire to contribute to the house, but as soon I as got home I got to work. The shower curtain liner was already ripped, which is a bummer but it was like, $2 so I guess I can't really complain. As I was putting it up I found myself wondering really inane shit, like "I wonder who standardized the amount of holes in shower curtains and liners. Did they like, have a conference about it?".

I wish someone had standardized the size of toilet seat hinges and the holes they're supposed to go through because, as it turns out, the hinge was way too big. I didn't want to have to go back to the store (and to be honest, they probably wouldn't give me an exchange on something I had tried to shove into a hole in my punk house toilet), so I ended up whittling the hinge down with my leatherman, and cramming it in. Voila, another successful repair on the Orphanage toilet (we also had to replace the rubber flapper last year. That was more annoying to fix, but was a bigger problem to begin with.)

I can't help but think of that lady who warned me not to become too domestic. I wonder at what point one becomes "too" domestic, you know? I mean, being comfortable in my home is important to me. Having shit to work on here gives me little bursts of satisfaction. I still get an incredible thrill out of travel, and I feel extremely comfortable hitchhiking, but having a home to be proud of is something I really desire. Otherwise I would probably just end up wallowing in a filthy, uncomfortable, poorly lit, stinky hovel and would never have a break from my own mental poisons.

Now I'm going to go busk with Ryley, because playing music is also really therapeutic for me and I really don't get to do it often enough these days. All I want to do is distract myself and occupy my mind with more positive thoughts until I can find a way to get to sleep, and then do it again the next day. Living day to day.

Fuck.

oh barf; anxiety

How many times a day can I possibly check my e-mail? I am losing my shit. I've been pacing around since yesterday, my heart is freaking out, and I can't concentrate on anything.
Fucking get in touch, please. You know who you are.