top floor life

The first month in this apartment on the top floor of a three-storey walk-up on 99th Street in Edmonton, Alberta. The light in here is saving me. 

Finals start this week. I'm trying to write a term paper on Mary Astell, a 17th-century woman who quietly revolutionized English rhetoric.  I'm finding it hard to concentrate. 

My desk is in front of a window through which I can see into the bakery across the street. One day I recognized my friend Clayton making croissants. I went to yoga for the first time. I discovered Iron and Wine, seven years late. 

I'm drinking a lot. Sometimes I smoke a cigarette. The downstairs neighbor hauled in a piano three weeks ago. It took the whole day and they left the back door open. I thought Simpkin had escaped. Now he plays all the time and it's the best music you can imagine.

I'm going to have a Christmas tree. I got a haircut. It's not fair to say it, but every man I encounter disappoints me. It's a phase, I know. Who am I to lump people into a category called 'men'? I bought a humidifier. I bought a bed and a lot of new clothes.

My kitchen table is already so important. I have two chairs. People sit here and I cook for them. More meat than before. Every time I come home I greet Simpkin out loud and put my cash tips into a jar.

There are matches and books everywhere. Downstairs I pay a dollar-fifty in change for every load of laundry I wash. I dry things on a clothes rack in the kitchen. I make coffee without a scale. 

sometimes being a writer means learning some woodworking

A few weeks ago, Tim helped me to make a background for zine gallery photography. I needed something I could set up and move around--but I wanted it to look like a table. Enter this cherry wood board, which we cut, book-matched, glued, planed, squared, burnished, and waxed. (Book-matching is unbelievably satisfying.) I learned a lot. It took a day and a half. 

Now I'm in the middle of upgrading the zine archive with better photos. Here's the newest addition.

perspective, perspective

This picture is two years old.

Tim's dad emailed it to me yesterday.

I like this girl.

I see how hard she is trying and I wish her well. 

Today I am wearing this same dress, black leggings, another grey hoodie. 

I feel so much older, sadder.

I am dropping every possible ball.

I am exhausted. I am embarrassed.

I resent the world and blame it. 

I disappoint myself. 



But I am trying to show her a bit of grace. 



Tonight was the night. 

Puffin pictures at last. I am so incredibly proud of this sweater. 

As an aside, I think I'm finally getting slightly more comfortable in front of a camera. Thanks to Tim for the expert photography. No grimacing to speak of!

Just this. This is what happens when a mosquito interrupts one of our photoshoots: