I am upset with myself. Ugly crying face. Quit crying, start working. Okaaaaaaaaay.
After working on a fabric component for one of my portfolios for three hours last night, I excitedly turned it inside right to lay it smooth. Fuck. I spent such careful time on it, happily sewing away in perfect Annie Kroeker lines, the two fabrics pinned neatly. I was so proud of my work; only to do it wrong. I thought of Lisa as anger welllllllled up, and then yelled to no one, "BRAIN FUCKING BREAK" and turned it inside out and lay it back down on my cleared work table. I walked out of my room and put my boots on. Okay, brain break. It was ten thirty by this point, I was exhausted and delusional from the Valentines mayhem prep shift at Em Cafe just hours before.
Seriously, it is a miracle I didn't chop off any fingers. I have never worked so fast in my life. Never been so frantic with a knife, just FLYING to keep up with Benoit and Simon as they slammed out plate after plate for the hungry lovers in the front of house. Screaming Valentines babies, hot bacon. I hooked a thumb against the lip of a rack of bacon inside the oven as it slipped out of my dry cloth and jerked it back fast knowing the wrath of Ben if I were to need medical attention while we flew through the SHIT. So I put my burning thumb in mouth and then into the cool of the crook of my elbow, looked at Ben and dove back in. No time for tears or burning flesh. WORK!
I worked the right side of the kitchen all day and didn't have time to breathe or take a sip. Peeing was out of the question. Benoit forwent his cigarette which is really saying something. It was busy, very, very busy. Anyway, I was bone tired from cooking over the weekend, from not sleeping much, from worrying but I knew a walk was in order after the sewing slip. My Brain Break consisted of a hunt for food, and a long walk through the sleepy streets of my neighborhood. It was snowing heavily and everything was glowing orange in that quiet city way. Craned neck bundled in Tony Chestnut hanging back against the collar of Giles' grey Club Mon. Mild winter nights walk. It was nice.
I miss the dark of the country, the way the lay of the land looks at dusk in Northern Ontario, the quiet glow of my tent for one.
For one please. Not having much time to whittle these days, I took myself to breakfast before the madness began yesterday morning and worked on what felt like the eight millionth draft of my Letter of Intent for the photography portfolio. Again, I came up empty handed, dissatisfied with my progress. Until that day of enlightenment rolls around, I HAVE to keep tossing out the shit and dwelling on the good. Cal style, positive until death. I have to be. Again and again and again, this is where I lie. Dissatisfied with my process/gress. And yet I cannot seem to find what it is I am waiting for. It will come, it has to.
While writing one draft, I caught eyes with a handsome man across the room (two actually). One of them was Jerry. Interested, he ambled over to my spot by the window and bellied up. "Nice to see a young woman using a quill", he barked into my coffee. He settled himself in the chair across from me and I looked deep into his white beard. We became fast friends (I continue to find it so much easier to befriend the Elderly of Montreal than the young) fast. We have a date next weekend. He is in his seventies. Perfect. I almost turned inside out when he announced to the near empty eatery that I was an artist (or so he assumed). It is funny how audible reminders of these sort sit within me at times. Sometimes I just forget until reminded. Oh yes, I AM an artist. A maker. Thanks Jerry, I needed that.
Sleepless in Mile End, Margot. Below is a scan from my drawing book. I was clearly enlightened, it was the birth of the Lady Longbodies on paper. Those are the best moments to pen. Moments of enlightenment. It will come. It must!