Peanut Butter Cups and Chaos

Regrettably, my room is in a perpetual state of chaos. As much as I would like to adopt a minimalist or at least a lack-of-crap-everywhere-ist approach to room organization, it is not to be. I cannot take on tasks without accumulating paraphernalia, or so it would seem.

I am the kind of person who cannot think straight unless a certain amount of order is enforced over the course of my day. For instance, my day will seem in all ways off if I have not made my bed before I leave the house. Considering that once I leave the house I usually remain away from it until well into the evening, this habit has a huge effect on my mental state. I dream of having a desk and shelving system free from clutter. Papers just seem to gravitate towards me, it is most irksome.

Every inch of the floor space at the perimeter of my room is taken up by a bag, a piece of furniture (often having bags or boxed in, around or on top of it, a box or a pile of paper. Yes, I do clean. I go through the process on a monthly basis, suffering through the part where you have to make more mess in order to achieve less of it, but it does not get better. In my house, my parents are loathe to throw anything away. To say that it has rubbed off on me is to say that it would take a bit longer to cross the Atlantic Ocean on foot. These aforementioned parents have instilled in me the desire to keep things that might be useful at some point down the line (maybe).

I am growing close to having enough. There are so many things I want to get rid of but because of their habit for keeping things of their own there is no longer any place in the house to keep mine. The state of our basement would make anyone weep (I just consider it a hazard). The contortions one has to subject ones body just to walk between the piles of junk down there borders on unbelievable. I have been make concentrated efforts, such as rotating clothing out of my closet when I buy new things and donating items I have not worn in many months. I am also looking for places which will accept books, but it becomes harder when you get to things like scraps of fabric too small to make into anything and other crafting supplies.

Let's face it, ladies and gents, my life has outgrown the boundaries of my little childhood room. My only reservation is that once the foot is placed squarely outside the familial home, there is no going back. Yet the idea continues to crystallize in my mind: the time to move out is coming and it will continue to weigh on my mind until I address it once and for all.

An opportunity to move into an apartment closer to downtown has presented itself. It is the home of a wonderful friend and I would be glad to share a living space with her. I have been going through some spectacular mental gymnastics these past few weeks, trying to come to some solid conclusion. I remain conflicted.

Sitting around waiting for an epiphany has rarely done anyone much good, and yet I persist.

Despite Gravity

Try as it might, winter has not managed to sweep my feet out from under me (in the entirely unromantic, if somewhat painful sense) and land me on my backside. This is not for lack of trying. In fact, my sphere of the universe has been dropping extremely unsubtle hints that I am due for an icy tumble. I'm not one to believe in signs (at least not on a regular basis) but when several things I touch become subject to increased gravity in rapid succession then I start to wonder.

My concern grows when I notice hundreds of slick ice bubbles lurking beneath the brown-grey snow. These little villains are the result of the day-to-day sidewalk trample. They need only to catch one boot unaware before you are sprawled unceremoniously on the sidewalk. I've been stumbling.

My trepidation grows ever greater when the first step in a snow-clad flight nearly tips me over backwards. I'm normally so good at stairs and I've been lucky to not have my head meet concrete on several occasions. There is reason to believe that winter is not quite done with me yet.

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I type this between bursts of scholarly inspiration. With a week left to go before spring break (cruelly termed "Reading Week" at my University) there has arisen, seemingly from the void, a pile of tasks taller than I wish I was. Sadly, you cannot sit for a midterm exam before the day you are due to sit, so I cannot get that out of the way early. However, the aforementioned burst of scholarly inspiration has led to the completion of one assignment.

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 Monday is not a romantic day (since the Lad and I spend most of it apart), therefore romance is relegated to the days leading up to and following that particular day. I wrote a love letter on butterfly paper and sent it in a yellow envelope. I am told we shall go skating this weekend. You may now remove all rom-com flashbacks from your mind; we do not teeter and we do not fall comically into each other's arms. It is less about appearing vulnerable and more about doing infinite icy laps until we cannot feel our ankles and skating hand in mittened hand. Of course, there will be showing off on both sides, although I will concede that the Lad is a better skater than me (I envy his hockey skates, they do not have malicious little toe-picks). However! and this is important: I can spin in a circle without falling over. You may now applaud.

Of late my mind has been occupies with the construction of tales. I will be glad to share them with you in the near future. Deep down, we all want to curl up with a blankie and hear stories.

Book Review: Songs for the Missing

SONGS FOR THE MISSING
Author: Stewart O'Nan

Hardcover: 320 pages
Publisher: Viking Adult; First Edition edition (October 30, 2008) 
Language: English 
ISBN-10: 067002032X 
ISBN-13: 978-0670020324

SUMMARY

"It was the summer of her Chevette, of J.P., and letting her hair grow." It is also the summer when, without warning, college-bound Kim Larsen disappears from her quiet Lake Erie town. Her parents, her sister, her best friends and her new boyfriend now much do everything to find her. 
As time passes and local search parties give way to wider TV appearances, private investigations unearth dirty secrets. We follow those closest to Kim as they struggle to maintain hope and, finally, as the news cameras turn away, to hang on to both her and themselves. Stark and honest, this is an intimate account of what happens behind and beyond the headlines when those who stay after the media leaves deal with the real consequences of a very American tragedy.

(Jacket blurb)


REVIEW

Kim is the 18-year-old I never was; she has a car, a crappy job, a beach to spend nights on and a river to swim in with her friends. Alright, I had one of those. The reader is not given much time to get to know the character of Kim and yet her absence is felt once she disappears off the page. This might be the most skillful stroke of the author's hand.

Overall, the characters in this novel left me wanting something more. Each one existed in their own sphere and while they bumped into each other they never truly interacted. So tethered were they to their linear character profile that I couldn't help missing the human element. There were times when I felt lost between the characters, since the focus shifts between them sporadically and I often had to read back to make sure I was following the right plot line. In following Kim's family, I was surprised that I couldn't feel for their loss, the mother, in throwing herself into the media circus and organizing all the awareness campaigns vanishes into her own media persona. Overall, the moments that aimed to forge that sympathetic bond with the reader were so far outside the plot that they didn't make sense to me. It was as if they were tacked on because there was some requirement for a "familial intimacy" moment.

As for the plot, it rolled along and it concluded. If I can commend the author for one thing it would be how he managed to induce those same feelings of frustration, emptiness, anger and hope in the reader which would have been felt by the people experiencing such a loss. He does this without the use of empty moments which remind the reader what to feel, but rather by the pace of the plot and the knowledge he chooses to give to the reader. At the end I, like the characters, just wanted the ordeal to be over; I wanted closure. Frustratingly, the author doesn't give the reader much of that, and one is left with a vague hunger for something more, as if a pile of bones unearthed two years later could yield a stronger sensation.

Overall, the book was engaging, though not enthralling and certainly not captivating. I found that the author spent too much time explaining why the characters performed certain actions rather than leaving it open to the reader's interpretation. I appreciate it when the author gives the reader some credit. After being dragged along by thread after thread I wish it could have been a better ride. The book had its moments and while I would not disregard it completely,  I wouldn't enthusiastically recommend it.

Morning Radio

Einstein's theory of relativity, though contrived to explain the behaviour of time can be extrapolated (if only to amuse me) to various other aspects of my life. For instance, the Theory of Relative Cold: when -5°C is considered pleasantly warm because the previous few days have been spent at the -28°C mark. There is also the Theory of Relative Weight applied to things you happen to be carrying and the Theory of Relative Taste.

I'm riding the wave of high spirits that accompanies a break of mild temperature. Like the spherical grey squirrels that populate the yards in the fall I grow plump on the joy of baking. My family has not an iota of complaint when I place a pile of freshly baked cookies on the kitchen table. My recipe browsing has coughed up a winner this time. Soft Chocolate Chip Cookies, so luxuriously creamy that it's almost a sin.  I extend them unto you, my no-doubt salivating readers.  If you do feel like partaking in these little gems, consider the following modifications:

If you use unsalted butter, add 1/2 tsp salt to the dry mix. Also, 2 tablespoons of vanilla extract instead of the recommended amount will make the cookies sing with tastiness. I only used half the recommended pudding mix the first time I made them (because I bought only that much) but they are wonderful despite that. Finally, as a treat to myself I used half milk, half white swirled chocolate chips (think Hershey's Hugs but in chocolate chip form), I don't know if you can get them everywhere.

Today, my reasons to be cheerful include the fact that the sun was good and up when I stepped out the door, the weather was mild, there's snow (as usual) but for the most part is has been neatly piled to the side and CBC Radio 2 feeds me song after happy song. If only all my mornings could begin with a steaming cup of tea and the joyful burbling of a radio.

Happy Monday everyone!