i'll try to be better. i promise.

Ode to my sore feet.

My feet are sore from going to dance class all week. I’ve been trying to cure them by a) wearing fuzzy orange and white striped socks; b) wearing my nerdy but supportive running shoes whenever I walk; and c) placing them on my ice pack. That latter one is pretty uncomfortable. More importantly, however, is whether this was the most appropriate use of the semi-colon.

Today I am semi-inclined to take a trip out to Superstore in Langford. This is a bit of an endeavour with the bus, and one I have not undertaken since I last lived in Victoria. Usually if I want something at Superstore I wait until I visit Duncan. Moss St Market is also on today, and that is a ten minute walk instead of a 45 minute bus ride (times 2!). Who knows where whimsy will take me today. Perhaps I should just stay home and rest my feet. Baaaah.

I’m sitting outside right now for two reasons. First, it’s cool out, the sun just having set. Second, my house smells like hamburgers. The later is my fault, having made myself a hamburger for dinner. The smell of that permeates. Most annoying. Out here, however, on my balcony, the smell of old lady is wafting from who knows what apartment neighboring mine. There could be several culprits.

The coolness is appreciated because my windows face nearly directly west, capturing the heat of the setting summer sun. My apartment is mostly unusable between the hours of 5:30 and 8 lately. I close my curtains to block out the direct rays, but it’s still toasty. I like it. I position my fan right at me wherever I am located. My favorite position is for it to be aimed right at my feet while I lounge on my bed. Maybe I read, maybe I nap. It’s summer and I am finally warm.

I only just now got out my balcony chair. It’s yellow and foldy and I use it for reading mostly. I haven’t read as much this summer as I did last. I’ve been doing other things. Last week I had a flamenco workshop every evening that left me with just enough energy to propel myself home, feed myself and get into bed. Or onto bed. It was warm last week, too. I also spent a lot of my hours spent at home with my feet up, elevated on a pillow, as they were sore from the stomping that flamenco demands.

I can hear someone using a typewriter. Imagine. I thought I was hip with a laptop.

You see that “imagine” written up there? That’s lifted from Boston Legal, episodes of which I have been watching. I am absorbing their speak. I should be reading something clever instead, and absorbing that. Shoot.

Young men with guitars have been passing by on the sidewalk in front of my building. Are they connected? Perhaps there was a sing-along down at the Serious Coffee down in the village. I mean open mike, of course. It’s probably just young men and their guitars, though. Looking cool.

Summer orange. Mmmm.

Today I did the following: sweated. There’s some cloud cover now, however, so existence is tolerable.

I’m currently wearing strappy shoes with no socks. The occurance of me wearing shoes with no socks is incredibly rare, save for those times when I wear my flip flops down to the laundry room or out to the garbage bins. But those times don’t count because I don’t leave the immediate property of the apartment building.

I’m waiting for Amber to arrive on the bus. At least, that’s what I hope I’m doing.

I’m wearing a thick layer of slime today. I mean sun screen. Its finally hot and sunny. It was yesterday, too, but there’s always that one day when I forget that I need to maintain a Sun Defence: hat and sunscreen. Although right now I’m in the shade and there’s a breeze going and it’s quite nice. Nap, not work, is what I want. “Nap not work” is my new slogan.

Last night my balcony, facing the setting sun, was poisonous with heat. I snuck out only to dump some water on my wilting plants. I kept the curtains shut, but the apartment was still oven-hot until the sun was fully set around nine. I sat around and basked in the warmth, well, with the fan aimed at me. The heat is like wearing a permanent blanket, and I like wearing blankets.

I slept the last few nights with both my window and balcony door open. No problem sleeping with the street noise except for last night when some drunk guy yelled for Ruth-Ann and his friends shushing him. Maybe it was Ruth-Ann he called for, maybe I was dreaming.

I woke up this morning with anxiety over my file numbering stamps at work. Foolishness, remembering once I got to work and seeing there is no problem. I can’t remember if I was dreaming about them.

Lunchtime.  I went out for lunch today.  It was an order your food at the counter and pay for it and then go sit in a booth with a number to wait for server to bring your stuff.  I ordered a club sandwich *hold the cheese* and a garden salad.  After the waiting part and the food coming there was feta cheese on the salad.  I went up to the counter with the little bowl of salad and requested another.  I got back to the table and took a bite of my sandwich and it was soooooo good.  But what was that dripping from the inside.  Cheddar.  Rrrr.  I took my plate up to the counter and requested another.  I had to wait a little longer, and then my new salad came.  Good, except I had taken my salad dressing back with my sandwich plate.  Waited some more and one of the servers brought out my sandwich.  The same sandwich I had taken back, still with cheese, and with a bite taken out of it (the one I had taken).  Note good.  I returned that again.  Oh man.  My proper sandwich was delivered a few minutes later, no cheese, very delicious.  The server offered me a dessert to make up for the trouble, and I got a carton of fruit salad.  Crazy!  But I got my food, so all was well.  Silly, but well.

I forgot my lunch this morning. I was almost in the building (across the street) when I realized it and I started to laugh. I never forget my lunch. Sometimes I don’t bring one if I have lunch plans. But I never forget it. I ended up taking out my supervisor to Irish Times to thank her for my year of work. The anniversary of my start is Friday. I hardly believe it.

Yesterday I noticed many people (OK, two) using the word “utilize” when they wrote comments on-line when they could just have used the word “use”. This bugs me as it’s a waste of typing, space and syllables. What makes you so important that you have to utilize the things around you and can’t just use them like the rest of us?

“Look at me utilizing this pencil to write with.”

“Utilize this, you pretentious chump.”

It must be because “fiction and nonfiction are very rarely published in the same book,”  (Beatrice and Virgil, page 6).

I got a free Starbucks last week for my birthday. I got a special coupon in the mail. I didn’t have time to get it on the actual day of my birthday, but it was just as tasty a few days later.

It occurs to me this week, however, that whenever I get Starbucks it is free Starbucks. This is because I rarely go, and when I do I use the Starbucks cards I got as gifts or prizes or etc.

It was fun, though, slapping that coupon down on the cashier’s counter. The cashier glared at me a little and did not offer me a birthday greeting.