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This morning I woke up at 6:00am and was wide awake. I blame bootcamp (although I find it strange that during the week, I wake up late at 6:30 and have to run to bootcamp and the one day I don’t have it, I’m up at 6:00…but whatever). Anyway, I thought “great! I’ll get heaps of work done today!!” I got coffee and a bagel, and came back in just the right kind of writing mood. But my office was freezing!! I closed the window. Still freezing!! I wrapped myself in a blanket but then couldn’t write…blast!! At around 8:00, I gave up and went back to bed to warm up a bit and now here it is, noon, and I’m behind schedule. Double blast!! And it’s still cold, although tolerable.

There’s always something. If it’s not the bloody cold, then the cat has just vomitted on the floor. Or the other cat has eaten a bag of hair elastics and is leaving gifts all over the house. Or the coffee runs out. Or whatever. I just want to be left in peace, in a warm space, to write!! Is that too much to ask??

In other news, I did make a smashing soup last night but forgot to write down what I put in it. Triple blast! I’m making a mushroom pie tonight though. Food post tomorrow. If it’s good. Which it won’t be because today is a “Blast!” day.

>So for ages now, Fialonia has been bugging me to get my eyes checked. I’ve never had my eyes checked. In my defense, I thought that I had (Fialonia was more than a little appalled by the fact that I didn’t know that the eye test they do for your drivers licence is not the same as getting your eyes checked. Apparently I could have eye cancer or something and the drivers licence people would not know that). Anyway, after months of nagging, she finally convinced me by noting that I held my articles quite far from my face or quite close. I know it sounds stupid, but I thought everyone had to re-adjust like that. Turns out, not so much. So I went in.

I don’t have eye cancer. Or glaucoma. But when my right eye was covered, and I was forced to read with my left eye alone, I was stunned. What the hell is up with my left eye!? The difference was shocking to me. So glasses it is. The glasses you see above in fact. Fancy. The girl at the counter tried to get me to buy these spiff Dior ones but at $100 more than the Hugo’s, I thought I’d better not. Holy crap but glasses are expensive (I can hear my sister laughing).

As if I wasn’t geek enough…yeesh.

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I’m stuck in my research. I have no idea where to go. I should just talk to my prof. She would be a huge help, of this I am certain. But I don’t want to. Because I feel like I should be further along than I am and I think she might think that I should be further along than I am and blahblahblah. If I go in, I have to admit that I’m stuck. If I sit in my room and rock back and forth, only Zoe knows that I’m going slowly mad.

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So A. and I are getting married in August 2010. Yay! We decided on August because it’s a) in the summer and therefore before the school madness starts up again, b) after my comprehensive exams, and c) far away. Like, more than a year away.

So we can relax, right?

Wrong. The other day, I was having brunch with a good friend and she asked where I was having my wedding. I said that we hadn’t really even started looking yet, and she said “….really??“. Now, generally speaking, I’ve been able to ignore the “really??“‘s, chalking them up to paranoid crazy people who worry too much. But this particular friend is a practical sort, not at all inclined to exageration. Uh oh. But then she gave me a great idea for a location. Sweet! Which then turned out to not be available. Uh oh. So then, out of curiousity, I called around to a few other places….four – FOUR – of the six I called were already booked – ALREADY BOOKED – for the day we were thinking.

WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE!!??

Who books their wedding location two years in advance?? Who puts down anywhere between $250.00 and $750.00 as a deposit on something they aren’t going to use for TWO YEARS!? And in some cases, three! Crazy people, that’s who. Apparently I missed the memo that said that my wedding location needed to be picked and reserved before A. and I even met. And I wouldn’t be that worried if we were only having a few people but our guest list is over 125 and that means a banquet hall type place is needed. Grr.

So next week, I’m actually looking at places. I have actual appointments booked and everything. It’s a shame, really, because I was hoping to wait until A. got back before doing any of this but, well, it seems that the crazy couples of Ottawa aren’t going to let me wait. Bastards.

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Thank hell for the day after Mother’s Day. And a sunny day, no less. Woot.

There is nothing like rising from the depths of a days long depression. It’s glorious. This morning, I woke up and lay in bed for a moment to see if that icky voice in my head was still kicking around. The one that tells me not to bother getting up, the day will be shit. The one that convinces me that a day spent watching bad tellie and eating almond butter from a spoon is a day well spent. She’s an alcoholic bitch with a smoking problem and I dislike her. But this morning, she was gone (well, ‘gone’ isn’t really the right word. She has retired, gone on vacation, taken a nap, whatever. The bitch will be back). I got up, had some breakfast, went for a run with Fialonia, did some strength training and I feel fantastic. Time to thesis like mad!!

>My mother and I had a rocky relationship for many years. It started when I was about 10 and lasted until I was about 25. Some of the problem came from the fact that my mum is not, and has never been, a mum mum – she doesn’t bake cookies (unless forced to), make big Sunday potroasts, call every week, or say mum type things, supportive or critical. And some of the problem came from the fact that I haven’t seen my parents as parents since I was about 10. They were (and really still are) just people in my life who happen to have given birth to me – more friends then parental figures.

But much of the problem was because we were both lost. Mum was in a marriage that didn’t really work for her and had nothing that was her own. When my parents separated in 1998, my mum sort of fell apart for about six months and leaned heavily on me for emotional support. I can’t say I was much help, given that I didn’t think her marriage was worth saving anyways. I was even less supportive when my parents got back together a year later and basically stopped talking to everyone. Mum, to her credit, went back to university and found her passion in life – neuropsychology. This improved our relationship somewhat but she was still having issues with Dad and didn’t take kindly to my suggestions that maybe, just maybe, her and Dad weren’t right for each other. Meanwhile, I was floundering through life as a hairdresser, barista and coatcheck girl in Toronto, hating myself and my shitty relationship and, well, everything. Calling home meant listening to more problems I just didn’t have the strength to deal with so I didn’t call. And so we drifted along.

I admit that for ages I longed to have one of those mother-daughter relationships that’s all about the bonding and whatnot. You know the types – the ones who call their mum everyday and who tell them everything. The mothers who send baked goods in the mail and who remember things like dates and your favourite food and all that jazz. I desparately wanted to go back to a time before I realized that my parents were people, and I wanted to think of Mum as a mum.

But somewhere around 25, things changed. My parents split up for good which relieved a lot of the tension between my mother and I. My mum started dating and met a nice man named Frenchie. DM and I split up and I met A.. Suddenly, Mum and I were able to talk about the same things – we both had these great relationships and we were both in school and we were both excited about life. We could compare notes on writing papers and we could swap crazy student stories. We moved in with our respective partners at the same time and laughed over the job of combining two adult lives into one. We got engaged within a few months of each other and began trading wedding preparation stories. We started wearing the same clothes, watching the same films, and enjoying the same things (dancing, tea, and Colin Firth).

In short, we both grew up. Sure it’s odd that it happened at the same time. But I think long term, we’re happier for it. I didn’t get a mum in the traditional sense of the word but I think I got something much better: a very, very good friend.

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Right, so I haven’t posted in ages because my computer has been sicky. Some sort of virus…not swine flu, but similar. I had a Geek Squad agent come take a looksie. This was a nifty experience. I love the whole house call bit and the fact that it didn’t cost more than the price of the computer itself to fix. Horrah!

At any rate, I have nothing of value to say right now but I am trying a new pasta recipe tonight from ‘Eat, Drink and Be Vegan’…stay tuned.

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Yesterday, I picked up some fresh basil with aspirations of making a delightful noodle dish (fresh vine tomatoes, spaghetti noodles and some leftover Italian spices from our last trip…yummy!). The noodles weren’t made in the end because SOMEONE (Fialonia) managed to convince me (ok, it wasn’t exactly difficult) to get a veggie wrap from Quinn’s instead (before you judge me, it was the first good day of patio season and I was really missing A.. And I didn’t drink too much. Which is a big deal in and of itself. So there). Anyway, I brought the basil home and realized that part of the bunch is all soggy gross ick. Boo. I’ll still have enough to make tonight’s pasta awesomeness but that’s not the point. The point is I’m tired of paying for things that are sub par and I’m really tired of buying overpriced fresh herbs.

Blog Reader: “So why don’t you grow your own, Ezmy?”

Because I suck with plants. I’m really, really quite bad at growing things. Every plant that has ever set foot in my home has promptly committed suicide. Sometimes it takes a day, sometimes a week but it always happens. The only survivor is a vine that resides on top of my bookshelf and I think it might actually be a mutant weed. I have killed FIVE basil plants. Last year, my landlords,who have an amazing garden and who could grow corn in a cement block, gave me a rosemary plant that they had had for years. I took care of it just the way they said and it died three days later. I kid you not. Worse, every year I go through what I’m going through right now – I get frustrated at the cost of fresh herbs (which I love) and I go to Byward Market where I pick up a few unsuspecting plants. I take them home, I make maybe one pasta dish and smile to myself as I pick fresh herbs from my ‘herb garden’ and the next hour/day/week, they die. It’s tragic.

So over-priced herbs it is. But I need to find a good source. That’s the project for this weekend. That, and taking lovely pictures of tulips. Tulip Festival has arrived!

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First day of bootcamp today. In pain now, but I’m really going to feel it tomorrow in my “Butt & Gut” class. Ugh. Worse, there was this super hot red headed girl there who knew how to do everything and then some. She was bootcamp pro. Which is great because she served as inspiration and everything but let’s face it: I’m never going to be a hot red head. I’m shooting for above average arms blonde. That’s realistic, I think.

Anyway, it was painful. But it got me started early, which is always a good thing. I’m far more productive in the morning than in the afternoon. However, no matter how productive I am, I can no longer hide the fact that the thesis isn’t. getting. done. I don’t really know how that’s possible, given that I sit in front of my computer for 12 hours each day and write like a demon, but I feel as though it’s going no where. Fast. Blah. I had to meet with my supervisor today who said in the nicest way possible ‘where the fuck is your next chapter’? (She’s actually super patient with me but I think she worries that I’m floating in a thesis abyss from which I will never return…she may be right). I deftly avoided the question by turning the discussion to her book that I’m doing research work for and the topic was dropped. But sooner or later I’m going to have to produce this bloody chapter…can’t avoid the subject forever….

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So once again, I do not feel that last night’s recipe makes the cut for recipe posting. It was good, but kind of meh. I have high hopes for tonight though. Anything with bok choy and rice MUST be good.

Last night, I decided to register for boot camp classes. You know, take this shit to another level!! Ahem, right. So anyway this felt like a super good idea last night. At midnight. I’ve been doing pretty well with the healthy eating and walking for an hour and a bit each day and lifting my little 10 lb weights and what not but I think it’s time for a more serious commitment on the exercise front. I want rock hard abs and buns of steel! So I signed up for boot camp Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings…classes starting at 7am. I also signed up for “Butt and Gut” classes for Tuesday and Thursday mornings…classing starting at 7am….

Midnight Ezmy is clearly crazy and should not be allowed to do anything but read and sleep. Ah well. Stay tuned for pain posts. Tales from the boot camp. Tales from the ‘butt and gut’ (that sounds gross).

rawr!