On The Mend And Playing Centon

I have been intent on not-wallowing in this depression as much as possible. I made a deal with myself: if I do at least one housekeeping task after work, then I can moon about on the couch as much as I want and not use my laziness as a blunt object to beat my self-confidence with. It has been making a difference. I cleaned the bathroom this last weekend, which is monumental. When I found myself absentmindedly etching a caricature of myself into the side of the tub during a bath, I knew that I had let that one go too far. I mean, I was actually naked and soaking in hot water inside a container I would not have fed a dog out of. I have also tidied the living room, done two loads of dishes in the sink, put two loads of laundry through the wash, and cleaned Elliott’s cage.

I have also decided that I have to keep on top of physical things like washing my hair, brushing my teeth, and having toilet paper around the house. When I’m depressed, the hygiene thing can get a bit dodgy. I never let it get really noticeably disgusting, because I do work in an office and enjoy hanging around with friends in the off hours, but I do become less fastidious about clipping my nails and shaving my pits and washing the make-up off my face at night. Apparently, I also neglect to buy toilet paper when the Dark Mood overtakes me, because I have been out of that for two weeks until today. I did have paper towel that I was rationing, but paper towel doesn’t cut it for some things, so I pooped at home for the first time in two weeks today after work. I, like many of you out there, hate pooping in public washrooms, but my depressed self couldn’t be arsed to make a trip to the store for proper toilet paper. Until today, that is. Now I am heads above my self of a week ago and can look each of you squarely in the eye and say I am clean, I am keeping my apartment clean, and I poop at home!

Another thing I am doing tonight, now that some of my energy is returning, is dyeing my hair. Working on my appearance in such a way that will produce a predictably pleasing outcome can only further improve my spirits. The colour coupled with the fact that I got my hair cut super short again on Friday will serve to make me feel very hot, sizzling if you will, and although the Fiery One will not be within two thousand miles to see it, I will taunt him so with my hotness over the telephone that he will have to struggle to maintain his decorum in a hotel lobby in Europe somewhere. It’s true.

So, as you can see, I am on the mend, not completely patched up yet, but getting there. Some of my creativity is returning, as well as my desire to read, eat, sleep, and live in a liveable home. It is a good thing. The madhouse will just have to hold off making up a bed for me until a later date.

I was reading Open Brackets today, and decided that I would play centon. It is a game in which you create a piece of poetry or prose by piecing together lines from other works. The following is my time-constrained effort. Each line comes from an anthology of poetry compiled by Michelle Lovric entitled Bleeding Hearts: Love Poems for the Nervous & Highly Strung. I have to confess that I played with the punctuation a bit, but only at the ends of five of the lines, and I altered capitals at the beginnings of only one of them. Here goes:

Some nights are difficult for me, listen:
Love is a wishbone, stuck, in her throat
that shoots a witless, keener pang across
whittling clichés.
Recorded pain, hearsay or exegesis
of ink in absorbent cloth
about me, on me...
There are records.
What a cavern of teeth
give shape and colour to my words, my sentences,
and sprinkle it like confetti.
No. No. No. No.
Wild words come tumbling from my mouth
when the moon
is oblong, muscular;
all my best rooms are yours.

Does anyone else want to give it a try? (If you paste your patchwork poem into my comments, it publishes correctly without having to use html, so show me what you got).

This is the first I’ve heard of the internment of Doukhobor children in Canada in the 1950s.

The ban on hunting the endangered black rhino has been partially lifted in Namibia and South Africa.

The Nobel Prize in Medicine had been awarded to two scientists who have finally been able to explain how our sense of smell works.

The star of the shower scene in the movie “Psycho”, Janet Leigh, has died at the age of 77.

Cambodia has passed an agreement with the United Nations to create an international tribunal in order to try the surviving leaders of the Khmer Rouge for their crimes in the late 1970s.

Prattling On And Stevens

What I've Been Up To Since Tuesday And Mushiness For The Fiery One