Laura Ingalls gone Wilder

Witch legs sticking out from underneath a house. I am dressing according to mood of late. Yesterday was Laura Ingalls gone wild with witch legs. Today is Ken Budyk/witch legs/weird hat and the new CPR railway goggles that I just picked up. After a Valentine breakfast of Crack and Hash with Scotch and Rags at the Don this morn, we cruised down to Thrify Thirsties (I don't know what that means either) for some Sunday morning flea market action. All of this happened before noon. These are the things I bought for under 15 dollars:

- one pair of train goggles from the twenties (awesome)
- one tin cigarette case for the bush
- one handkerchief for Iaan
- one weird silkscreened print on wood (also awesome)

I love flea markets. I also love breakfasts with the Couple of the Year. What people I have in my life. Last night (whilst channeling the shit out of Prairie homemaker L. Ingalls Wilder), long after nestling onto Rab's nest like bed with brother Andrew and sister Rebecca (not one but TWO Budyk's under the same roof during Portfolio mayhem?!?! Who would have thunk it), we took one hectic bus ride from one end of the city to the other only to nestle into my own living room. We sat, played the latest and greatest, got jazzed for a night on the town. One quick walk to the Lo Pub, three abreast on the walk, landed me in the lap of a first date playing out at a table laden with beers. I was instantly squirrelly and Rebecca instantly reassuring. Thanks gemsy, you are a VERY good friend. She plied me with liquor and I danced on striped legs to mediocre music wishing I was in the shop at Martha Street, printing and singing along to Land of Talk. And yet. I stayed. I stayed and tried not to ruin the first date playing out in front of me. I left after a period of standing as tall as I could, no shame, wearing weird shit because I feel weird lately.

This portfolio is coming to a close. I see the light. Piles of work are finished being plucked from open drawers spilling over with old work, old prints, old news. Photos were picked up with loving care and tomorrow I begin one last drawing in Tante Daryl's drawing room to slip into the pile. Last piece. Tuesday I will measure, cut and fold the actual folios (two--one for the Department of Photography and one for the Department of Studio Art) and draw up the last of the designs for the exteriors. Wednesday, finish printing, rest these dear tendons, and begin to write. Thursday will be last minute paperwork, a flurry of post and probably some tears. I have been crying a hell of a lot lately.

Yesterday I started crying while serving a table. Oh dear. They gave me a ten dollar tip. Oh yes. It is okay mum, I am so CLOSEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

I am off to continue freaking out the Squares of Winnipeg with my goggles and witch legs. Today I have been whistled at and called a "fag". It is only 1:30 in the afternoon. Valentines Day is a hateful holiday for some. Oh dear Winnipeg, I miss you and your name calling ways already.