I am (sick) in Brighton drinking Camomile tea at the local pub, The Druids. The server is sweet and has been refilling it for me on the house. Earlier J was with me and we had delicious curry and thai hot and sour soup with coconut milk. We’ve had lots of delicious food and cuddling in Brighton. I love Brighton a lot, even though I was unable to recover from Bangface Weekender here because the place we were staying at was full of displaced unfulfilled artist egos. This morning we moved back to Matt’s place and it’s exciting again, even though it came too late. Tomorrow morning I am leaving for Toronto. I have a full review of Bangface and it’s amazingness in my fingers! J and I stayed in a chalet with Loops Haunt and Jimmy Edgar and I fell in love with them both. Ok, Ok. I fell in love with everyone at Bangface.
People wear too much strong perfume in Brighton, even on the street it stuffs my nose up.
People are real lookers here.
The seagulls are the biggest I’ve ever seen, especially compared to the ones we have in Toronto.
All the shops, and even cafes close between 5 and 6pm.
Cars yield to pedestrians and cyclists respectfully.
I feel like I know Brighton now. I like the comfort in that.
Finished the first year of my MA on Friday and then got really really smashed on Peruvian goods my friend brought back. On Wednesday I am supposed to fly to UK to VJ for the Bangface Weekender. Here is some photos of me looking at you.
I watched South Park tonight, “Medicinal Fried Chicken” and laughed my fucking head off. I might watch more episodes. Is everything okay? I also watched this break dancing baby on repeat. I guess sometimes it’s “ok” to laugh at things that aren’t just deadpan.
Oh and keeping menstrual blood in test tubes with cork plugs smells like cat poo after a month. So, I’ve given up on that project.
And traditional psychiatry is fucking ridiculous. I cannot imagine anyone going through the pains and anxiety of it. Buttttttt…. once again I’ve had to work the system. The old man didn’t even know how to spell Gestalt. Dude! Yes, that means he’s never even heard of it. Like really? That’s like me never having heard of bell hooks or something. His language was patronizing and totally misguided, aka guided by the traditional ‘objective’ DSM. I wanted to take a shit on him. I have too much school work to open up this conversation right now, particularly because of my distasteful past with traditional therapy. As if engaging with your Self and the world differently than the standard is having a disorder. I felt like a fucking monkey in a research lab being probed for ‘results.’ Gestalt, with its phenomenological focus doesn’t make me feel like I engage in improper ‘abusive’ behaviour and aren’t normal.
Ok, ok as much as I thought I could just do this and not think twice, it left me feeling so dirty for most of the day. That language, that language!
Sara U is this force in my life I cannot imagine doing my grad studies without. We were the only two peeps in my program that had ‘food culture’ related concerns. But, I thought she was mainstream and she thought I was ‘one of those girls’ that cares too much about fashion. We were both displeased (with our superficial judgements). Except when we finally met second semester, we became instantly connected and now we’re totally the ambiguously gay duo but not really. The other day Sara was in yoga and they had to think of their hero and she thought of me! Ha! Another point: one of our profs actually called me Sara the other day.
She writes me amazing emails like this because she’s obsessed with finding out my ‘real’ age:
妹妹： English Pronunciation ‘Mei Mei’
Definition: Younger Sister
姐姐： English Pronunciation ‘Jie Jie’
Definition: Older Sister
I can teach you the tones when I see you in person. You can call me ‘jie jie’ and I will call you ‘Mei mei.’ In many cultures, age matters. An example: In Japan and Korea you must bow to your elder friends when you see them. I think you should start bowing to me as well.
In the native american culture (I know Im being extremely essentialist but just stay with me for humour sake), they believe that elders can teach them everything. I will teach you all you need to know.
Ok mei mei, I’m off to write my essay and go for dinner.
I came to see my grandpa in Poland because he had developed Alzheimer’s and it happened quickly and he was probably going to die in the next week. The first day I was there, we talked and hugged a lot and he spoke really lucidly so I didn’t think it would be such a big deal. He seemed so enthusiastic about everything and had his charming sharp memory. The next day we woke up and his eyes started getting shifty and his enthusiasm was more erratic, even though he was able to hold conversations, he would get distracted. “Oh wow, look at that pattern on the window curtain, it’s so bright,” he would say, go up to it and fixate his gaze. I started crying, and I would hold him and tug on his shoulders. Then in the evening I realized he hadn’t eaten so I tried to bring some food into his room and he was laying all twisted on his bed in his pajamas saying he cannot eat anymore, the pain is too strong and he doesn’t think he will be able to eat again but it’s okay because he can have water. I wasn’t sure how long a person can survive without food, but I thought maybe something like a week if they just keep drinking liquids. I was trying not to break down in front of him so I ran out and cried in my room the rest of the night until the morning. I went back in as soon as the sun came up with my puffy eyes to make sure he was still alive. He looked even more indistinguishable but I tried to make him laugh, and say all those silly idioms we shared between us. He would laugh, missing all his bottom teeth because he stopped putting in his dentures. I don’t really remember the rest of the dream, but I remember each day seemed to drag on (in the dream) because as it was happening it was all going by too fast. I don’t know too much about Alzheimer’s because my grandpa died on blood poisoning, from a variety of reasons but particularly because as a dentist he had the ability to over-medicate himself. He died three days before I was supposed to fly to Poland to take care of him in 2005.
A photo of mine is in the Wychwood Barns Fundraiser Gala on April 15, but because there are many people involved and they want to maximize the donations no one is given a free pass and the tickets are 75$ so I am obviously not going. I wish I could go, the Wychwood Barns are one of my favorite places in Toronto. We might be given a discount on tickets, I don’t remember, but either way, anything higher than 0 is above my government loaned budget. I hope my photo sells because then maybe I can make a little bit of money, or at least pay back the printing and frame costs. My parents have never been on vacation since we moved to Canada 20 years ago. My parents cannot even afford my dad going back. Yes, I go back a lot, because of legal dealings and because I have attempted to set up my life so I can. I cannot imagine not being able to travel, not being able to go anywhere outside my small radius of Southern Ontario. This summer I want to sell off many of my things (even though I have so little extraneous shit) because I feel stifled and suffocated and immobilized by them. Ok, maybe most of the furniture I will put in some sort of storage space because it’s stupid to sell something you will need again, but it still has a similar effect!
Too much restlessness and anxiety make for a badly focussed Magda and I need to get this paper done by tonight no matter what.
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