a wolf angel is not a good angel

Why look: I just posted about avoidance on this here blog and followed it with . . . avoidance! I did, however, “tell” one friend, who said I could always talk to him. Telling actually means acting so affectless and lifeless that I creep people out, apparently. But you know, I wasn’t pretending to be a-okay, which counts, right?

Today, though, I went out and did things, which distracted me, which was good. A friend asked me why I had a letter from McDonald’s in the back, and I said it wasn’t that, it was, and then I blanked out, and she accused me of being secretive (me? no way) but really I just forgot the word binder. One day I will finally forget every noun.

Talking about someone named V, who a friend knows and who may be but probably is not the V that I knew (and disliked) years ago.

me: The thing I remember about V is the time he came to class wearing tight white shorts with nothing under them. It was quite something. He wore a tight white shirt, too, but that was less memorable.
friend: Was he big?
me: I don’t really remember.
friend: Come on. You have to remember that.
me: Friend, I was 17! I had no basis for comparison.
friend: well, was he tall and skinny like A, or more S’s size.
me: Oh. You mean that kind of big.

I have been disinclined to blog. Or perhaps it’s just a disinclination to blog about anything of substance or of importance. I feel uncomfortable doing it, as uncomfortable as I feel talking to people about things, which is: very. Because I am sad[1], and though I have many posts about being sad, I feel less able to write about it, want to keep it hidden and secret. It’s not good.

I wonder if it’s because I’m no longer anonymous enough? I wonder if it’s because I feel disconnected, though more reasonably, I feel disconnected *because* I am depressed. But it’s hard to say: I am not getting the pushes of creativity or the moments of mental clarity that sometimes I got.

Nothing appeals to me to write about. It’s as grey and dreary inside as out. Matilda is unusually friendly, meaning either that I am ignoring her or that she senses something wrong.

I am so very tired. Maybe I will make more sense of all of this tomorrow.

[1] In this case, read sad as actually meaning depressed, in the standard clinical sense. After about half my life like this (what a waste), I can tell.

I’m thinking it would be fun to foster kittens, though I am also thinking I should wait a bit because I have unscreened windows and leave the back door open (Matilda refuses to leave the balcony but likes to sit out there), something that wouldn’t happen in the winter. But first I’m researching it, and I found — to my utmost shock — that Stephen Harper has fostered cats while in Ottawa. Stephen Harper! Pictures of him in 24 Sussex with foster kittens! (This is obviously news I missed a few months ago.)

Does anyone know of a good online resource for linear algebra? I need a refresher. (I took the 100/200 level courses at university, need about that level of stuff.) Free online textbook? Something? Preferably something not pdf. I don’t even know if the math people still read this blog, but here’s hoping (and technorati-ing the ones who have blogs that I can think of offhand).

Item Number: XXXXXX
Product Type: Xpresspost
Service Standard Delivery Date: 2006/09/22

Date of Event Time of Event Location Description Retail Location Signatory Name
2006/09/21 21:07 MISSISSAUGA, ON Shipping details electronically submitted

And this is why Chapters’ shipping sucks. Because they say, oh yes, we’ll ship within 24 hours, but they totally haven’t. If I’m very lucky I will get the books tomorrow, if I’m realistic, Wed or Thurs.

Hey, other bloggers. Come play Funny Farm. Essentially, you’re guessing words that are related to the word in the big centre box.

Most fun: you can work cooperatively, so after you’ve played for a bit, you can merge my saved game and we can play together. I haven’t gotten very far, and it seems like more fun to do with people, anyhow.

Update: got a few more answers. This game is annoyingly frustrating.
Update 2: even more. Someone, help. Please.

This morning, I went to shul, for the first time in many years. I have long been disenchanted with the options here, and today has not re-enchanted me. I grew up in a compromise synagogue, a reconstructionist shul with a wannabe-conservative (or maybe conservadox) rabbi. Eventually my family drifted to the reform one here, the one my mother grew up in, and it’s where I went today, for the first day of Rosh Hashana.

And I know it’s not a joyous holiday, it’s solemn, but the songs were like dirges. The Sh’ma should not be funereal. (On the plus side: they were all so slow I could read the Hebrew (if I didn’t know the words) and sing along.) And they didn’t sing the Mourner’s Kaddish, which I like to hear sung. (It was just chanted.) It’s hard to make changes to the tunes you know, but especially hard when the songs make you think, hey, today’s a good day to slit my wrists! Awesome! And I felt that there wasn’t focus on the new year aspect of it — the sermon was about how time alone doesn’t heal, and though I agree with that, it seemed somehow off. (Especially off: he talked about the recent war, but not the shooting at the school across the street.) I can’t define why. I know it’s about atonement, but there was no talk of atonement. There was no talk of renewal, either, of a fresh start, which is what I think more of: you are sorry for what you did, you make amends to those you hurt (this is an integral thing), and you get to try again. I know you can’t talk about the same thing every year, and I know, also, that there are only a few services a year that the rabbi has to reach everyone — but still, something felt missing here, today. The synagogue fills up with people and then empties out speedily — there’s no feeling of community. I’m debating trying again tomorrow, when it should be emptier, and also considering going for Sukkot, or Simchat Torah, not just Yom Kippur, but . . . I don’t know. I am always frustrated by the Jewish community here, and I know I’m not the only one, but I also know I am far to lazy to do anything but be frustrated.

Also, the people who blew the shofar (which isn’t easy) were really, really, really terrible.

My first cousin once removed, to his 90 year old mother, one of the most elegant women on this planet: “But you’re quite the player, aren’t you, mom?”
Me: “Yes, Aunt H, you’re quite the player.”

Or I *finally* started volunteering at the SPCA.