How to pack ineffectively

Liam and I had possession of our house last week, yet somehow we have still not moved in due to being the slowest, laziest packers on the planet. Actually he’s been very good, it’s really just me. I’ve never moved before, so I’m only just discovering the pain that is packing your life away into boxes.

I’m trying to downsize as much as possible so I don’t have immense piles of crap cluttering up my new house… crap that I’ve dragged around since childhood. I’ve been mentally preparing for it for a few months, so some things are easy to get rid of.. others not so much. In any case it’s been more time consuming than I thought, especially since I have the attention span of a nat. This is the method that I’ve been using to pack:

1. Get box and go to room to be packed
2. Place one item into box
3. Take a break
4. Look at box
5. Have a coffee
6. Look at more items
7. Get really tired
8. Take a nap
9. Repeat next day

Can you see my predicament? At this rate it’ll be winter again before I’m in the house.

call me dancer

If I did not dance today,
does that mean I’m not a dancer?

Maybe tomorrow
I’ll wake up,
and dance

frantically
like they say not to

beautifully
everyone’s guilty pleasure

ugly
so that they’ll call me an artist

fluidly
to send the blood to my fingers and toes

heart beating
rigorously until my body cannot withstand
the draining
my energy donned in droves
from passion
and temper

so that no can can dispute
no one can deny
sacrifice my life to prove and

call myself dancer.

They’ll have to agree.

lipstick

sip tea from dainty china cups
imprinting lavish coloured stains around the rim
the footprint of painted lips
a kiss thankful for the sweet taste
remain crystallized for the next sipper

I know where I live

A couple nights ago I went out for a few drinks with some girls from my program for one of their birthdays. We went to some bar not far from my house, I’d say it takes 15 minutes tops by car if the roads aren’t busy. I took a taxi because I knew I’d have at least a couple drinks and obviously wasn’t going to want to drive, and I ended up staying there for quite a while. By the time I left to flag down a taxi it was close to 2 am.

The point of this story is the interaction I had with the taxi driver. He presumed arrogantly that because I was a young girl leaving a bar late at night that I must be completely plastered. I wasn’t drunk in the least. Tired, yes, but undoubtedly coherent. He decided that I must be so out of it that he could pull one over on me and take me sight seeing in my own hometown. It went like this:

Taxi driver: Hi. Where would you like to go?

I gave him my house address, thanked him, and sat quietly in the backseat. He proceeded to drive on, and I sat there eagerly awaiting my chance to crawl into bed and sleep. Somehow that wasn’t going to be the end of my night, however, as I noticed the taxi driver going in the complete opposite direction of my house.

Me: Umm… sorry but where are you going?

Taxi driver: To your house.

Me: My house is actually the other direction.

He pulls up to the left hand turn lane and we sit for a few minutes at a red light. Since it’s 2 am the roads are dead. It’s just me and him in this horrible taxi ride of bullshit.

Taxi driver: No, I am going the right way.

Me: It’s much faster if you turn right here and go down this road. I can direct you.

Taxi driver: I know where I’m going.

Me: Sorry, I know you can go this way to get there, but it takes twice as long. Can we just go the other way, please?

Taxi driver: Well, I’m already in this left turn lane.

Me: There’s nobody on the roads, I’m sure it’ll be fine if you just go.

Taxi driver: I can’t do that. Don’t worry it doesn’t take any longer going this way.

Me: Yes it does.

Taxi driver: No, no. It’s about the same distance.

I was pretty grumpy from being tired, and my annoyance level was escalating very quickly. I mean who is this guy to contradict me? I’m a paying customer. Don’t try and pull this crap on me man.

Me: Sorry but I have lived here for over twenty years and I can assure you it takes much longer this way.

Taxi driver: No it’s fine. You just relax back there, little girl. I’ll get you home in no time.

Even more annoyed now at being dismissed and called “little girl” in a very disrespectful way.

Me: I think I know the fastest route to my house, man. You just want to go this way so that it costs me more money.

Taxi driver: What? I don’t think so.

Me: ….

Taxi driver: I’ll get you home.

Me: Look, I’ll just get out here I don’t need to spend so much money. I’d rather walk.

I gave him a scowl through the mirror. He sighed at this point and then finally corrected his route and went the proper way.

Taxi driver: Okay fine I go this way.

Me: Thank you.

We rode for the next 10 minutes in horribly tense and uncomfortable silence, although I had a wonderful sense of self-satisfaction from having won the argument.

I think there must be some invisible aura of argument emanating from me because somehow I always end up having bizarre debates with people. Or maybe I just seem really easy to manipulate and rip off. When I was younger I was incredibly shy and so took a lot of crap from people in positions of authority. I also had one really horrible encounter with someone once and ever since then I decided I need to develop a tough skin and stand up for myself. So while I have been developing a confident take-no-crap personality on the inside, my physical self has not caught up yet, so I still have people trying to walk all over me.

Aren’t they surprised when it turns out to be the opposite. I almost enjoy it now. Almost.

Any one else ever have a taxi driver try and take the longest route possible? What did you do?

The last I saw of you

The last I saw of you

You sunbathed
faulty in your golden tuxedo
bow tie fastened around your neck
black ink run like a tattoo against fresh skin

You were trading accents with the neighbours
strange dialects rolling over swollen tongues
masking falsehoods
and giving rise to pretty lies

You discerned so many sounds
strutted through the dense infallible fog
molding memories into unfamiliar shapes
burying truths beneath layers of discrepancy
so that no one could be bothered to tell
which is which

Tell me

How is it that you carry on
so elusive of sense and reason
yet so sure of your purpose?