This weekend's theme is disappointment

Mykyle was here today. He recommended a book for me to read. It’s called Mutant Message from Down Under by Marlo Morgan. I was sitting here looking at the keyboard, trying to decide how to start and it caught my eye. I had written it down on a legal pad I have sitting beside the computer. And I thought, I must go down to the library tomorrow and see whether they have it. And then I thought, this will be interesting, because you can tell a lot about a person by the books they recommend you to read.

And then I thought, what if I don’t like it?

And then I had some more thoughts along the same lines that I’m not ready to share with you yet, before I went back to my question.

Why did I think that? Why didn’t I think, I bet it will be wonderful! Or, I’m really looking forward to reading a book that he liked, and then talking to him about it. Or even, great, now I don’t have to decide what to read when I go to the library tomorrow.

When I went back through my filing system, I realised I had thought all of those things. But that question is what had stopped me in my tracks.

So the nub of the issue is why did that thought stop me in my tracks?

It’s not like it matters. If I don’t like it, there are a number of things I can do. I can pretend I forgot and never read it. I can pretend I liked it. I can just tell him I don’t like it (which is what I normally do if I don’t like a book) and have a long argument about why not, which he’d probably enjoy anyway because he loves debate.

I don’t want to be disappointed, that’s why.

So if we were really to get down to it, why am I so afraid of disappointment?

I have a theory about it. I can’t really go into it here without sounding like Roisin Ingle. Well, Roisin Ingle if she ever wrote about what was really going on in her brain.

Or maybe she does.

I hope not.

I’d be very disappointed if that was the case.

I’m listening to my Yes, kid, it’s true, I’ve never heard of April fucking Wine, so fucking what! mix. There’s a lot of Bruce on it. The wistful, I’m never going to be twenty again and my job sucks stuff. And Bob. Angry Bob. Not angry about politics Bob. Angry about women Bob. And a bit of Thom. Angry about politics and the state of the world, now that he has a few bucks and a stake in capitalism stuff mostly. And some Jonathan, singing about forests and butterflies and white horses. Why doesn’t he go the whole hog and stick a big horn on the front of that horse and admit he loved Dune?

Cos he’s way too clever, that’s why. And that’s why he’s better than Kate Bush. And why she shouldn’t put out an album just before we all (her original fans) have our midlife crises.

I reckon it’ll break some people, that album, if it doesn’t live up to its promise. I was looking at her fan sites today. Some people LOVE her. In a nice way. Lots of mystical art, you know the kind of stuff; Rob Reiner took the piss out of it brilliantly in Spinal Tap and it never really recovered.

So yeah, disappointment.

That’s this weekend’s theme, boys and girls.

Stop moaning. It’s my blog.

I should do one of those lists. You know, the ones they tell you to do in the self-help books.

Things that are good in my life v Things that suck big weenie

Start with the positive.

1. It’s not the winter yet. The taxi driver today said it gets really cold in the winter and when I asked him what really cold was he said –8 Celsius. Which is the best yet. I could do –8C I reckon.

So that’s a positive.

The other day some ditzoid in a shop told me it got down to –50. And when I looked at her like she was insane, I could see her deciding to go with the lie. So I just shook my head slowly and sadly at her and walked away. And she followed me!

I cannot get two matching 'how cold does it get' numbers, never mind two consecutive matching numbers. These people have no idea how cold it gets in the winter. That’s because they all live in hothouses and drive around in big trucks they leave idling for an hour in the morning to ‘heat up’. And then they moan about the price of energy! They should insulate their houses properly.

Oh that’s right, they can’t afford to.

I have two words to say to that.

Credit. Union.

But it’s not fair – they all get it for free and they’re lazy bastards, and those other bastards are making money off our backs!!

Oh you noticed! That’s what you get, dudes, when you struggle up the greasy pole. You get shat on from a height. And by the way, it’s not true about the other guys. They’re not lazy. They just don’t believe in saving.

The middle classes are very disappointing when you get to them, aren’t they!

Welcome to my world.

What else is positive?

2. I’ve started cooking again. I cooked a really nice Moroccan Chicken dish today. With chickpeas and couscous, neither of which I could ever get to work for me at home. And I made a fantastic lasagne the other day with the three cheeses hand-grated and a perfect Bolognese. And my stews are a cornucopia of vegetables I don’t like, but with herbs and spices lovingly added in the correct quantities to actually enjoy them.

I can’t decide whether the food tastes nicer here in Nova Scotia, or whether I am just enjoying food again because I am no longer slowly dying of stress. I hope it’s the latter, because I know what they use for fertilizer here and it ain’t pleasant.

3. I went out this week. Yes, boys and girls, Queenie had a shower, got dressed, blow-dried her hair, put on make up, went out to the pub with some people, had a few drinks, got introduced to some other people, had conversations about politics and Ireland and Canada, assured several people that John deChastelaine was a great fella entirely and we were all very grateful for the great work he's doing, and went home after one in the morning.

And it wasn't even a work do.

That's a big positive. I need a social life that involves standing in a bar talking. Despite what Mykyle thinks.

Yes, the day to day stuff seems to be ticking along nicely. And I like my job.

Enough superficial positive thinking! It’s just not me, is it? I have a theory about that too, but I can’t go into it here without sounding like my brother’s analysis of my personality after eight pints of Guinness. (His analysis after eight pints, by the way, not my personality after eight pints.) And I am definitely not ready to share that with you.

Suffice it to say that there's enough truth in it for it to be uncomfortable and enough authorial curlicues adorning it for it to be useless.

But it drips with disappointment. The kind of disappointment that makes me hang my head for a bit. And while my hair is covering my face, I'm furiously planning how I'll get my own back on him.

I’ve just had a really evil thought. About someone else. I could dial the weather report in Alaska on the cell phone he gave me, gently place the phone in the corner of my wardrobe, and close the door.

That would bring things to a head fairly sharpish I reckon.

Thankfully, I don’t feel the need to bring things to a head, so I’m going to save him a load of money.

I hope he’s not disappointed with my disinclination to disappoint him. That would be disappointing.

I'm going to watch an episode of Lost now. Which is never disappointing, because even though the storylines are ludicrous, the male totty is fantastic.