A tidy room is a tidy mind!

Right. After a week of wallowing in a slough of despondency and self-pity, Queenie has pulled herself together at last. She tidied her bedroom, an activity that always seems to have a similarly cleansing impact on her head. Everything’s much clearer now. She can see the floor again, so to speak. And she spent all afternoon buried in a Sarah Paretsky novel, which in line with much of America’s detective fiction these days, is more about the Patriot Act than the crime story she was trying to tell. So she’s happy because she got lost in something else for a while.

And she made a really great dance/ world/ electronica cd for the bloke in work who ran through her iPod the other day. ‘Cos that’s a great way to get to know someone … whatever … which she’s listening to now.

And she sent a very forthright email to Himself in Alberta telling him how to run his life, because she can do that now as they’re just friends and as Queenie knows better than most, your friends are the best people to have running your life for you.

And she bellowed at Bruce for being a patronising git who won’t stay out of her room. And he responded by telling her to calm down girl, which proved her point absolutely not that he will ever realise that.

And she ate a lot of toast. So now she feels a bit better about everything. Until tomorrow presumably, when the deitrus of two of the above activities will begin to settle in little clumps around her.

My, we are using a lot of demolition imagery this week, aren’t we Queenie. That’s because a house fell on our heads, so to speak. But as with all the other times this has happened, there’s nothing to do but dig our way out.

And she thought about going to see Jarhead tonight, but decided a two hour stint of war and misery was not what she needed in late November.

As she said to Colombo on the phone today, TS Eliot has it assways. April is not the cruellest month; November is. It’s the first miserable month of the winter. The first week is full of darkness, pain and gloominess as we all remember the Great War. Particularly bad in Canada where this year was The Year of the Veteran. Then, after the eleventh, they turn the Christmas lights on full blast and push crappy merchandise on you for the rest of the month, when you have no money and no inclination to go shopping.

No wonder we all go crazy and try to hibernate.

Queenie has decided there’s no point in fighting it this year. She’s going to go to work, go to the movies, go out with Shazz once a week, teach her English class, and stay home the rest of the time. To hell with it. It’s only a few months.

And if Bruce thinks he’s going to overshadow Queenie’s winter with his sulking, hulking, non-housework undertaking, beer-swilling, hockey-watching crap for the next three months he’s got another thing coming.

So anyways, on to better things, lots of Alberta blogging to do and then some.