George was wrong! 1984 predicted the coming of a lethal weapon. Language a deadly tool for miseducation. Trimmed, refined and pruned. No words to express unwanted thoughts. Limited words for limited thinking. In the archives, they re-wrote the past, simplified it, confused it. Orwell got it backwards, the language is not trimmed, it’s amplified. Not limited, expanded. More words, any words, it’s all English, it’s all ok. The new WORDROBE is FANTABULOUSLY GINORMOUS. History is revised to clarify, ad a footnote, a new PC perspective. Infomercial, information for dumb down NETIZENS. IMHO (in my humble opinion) it’s all WAC.

I have dusty feet, Steve has dusty feet and Justin will likely have dusty feet too. It’s metaphorical of course, our feet are not actually dirty. Once my mom told me, that back home that’s how they call people who are never home. Instead of keeping their house tidied up, they go out in the village and chat with friends and strangers all day. They don’t get much laundry done either. They’re out there taking in the sun. It’s not suppose to be a good thing, but April feels like June this year. We’ll have dusty feet for a while.

Why do people have children? Why do people long for the costly obligations and endless work of parenting. Why procreate and forgo freedom. For legacy, social duty, imperative of the species, curiosity? Is it just because that’s what people do? Last night Justin was running around from the living room to the kitchen. Steve was hiding behind walls and furniture and leaping out every once in a while with a great big peekaboo. Children make people happy. Imperative of the species I think. The imperative to seek love,  to give love. Once we were children, once we make people happy.

I’m running now. I’m a runner. It was raining yesterday but I was out there. The cars in the street whizzed by one after the other without ever noticing me. Flashy orange spots jacket, matching flashy sports cap, navy blue sweat pants and dirty raggedy old running shoes. I was out there bouncing my 140 pounds up and down the street all the way to the park. Grey skies hovering over glumly wet streets is a blessing for weight obsessed butting runners. It keeps the people away you see. No witnesses aghast at my disgraceful panting and gasping for air.

Come one,  come all.  I’ll be  taking part in a group exhibition on Saturday May 30 down Town Mtl.  Come see my latest work.

http://www.growstudio.org/index.php?/project/show-details/

No time to blog. Busy feeding… all the time.

Justin eats every hour on good days. Every 15 min on  other days.

Tuesday we had a doctors appointment. She said I had a lot of baby in there. (Justin does feel pretty big to me).  She did this very uncomfortable procedure called a scrub. She said that usually the contractions start about 48 hours after…. 56 hours later, no contractions here…. Still waiting.

I cant seam to focus on anything these days. Sometime I think about the delivery (and I panic internally). Other times I’m just so anxious to see Justin that I can’t concentrate.  It’s like being in love again. You know when you keep thinking about him all day.  My mind is constantly drifting.

I sleep a lot these days.  I take naps during the day and then I sleep some more at night. My life revolves around meal time and sleep time. In between I get a little work done.  Sometimes Steve and I go for extremely slow walk.

During the holidays we collected predictions on expected delivery date from family members. My personal bet was for tomorow.  How can I fall asleep now!

There was a gift exchange and lots of kisses and handshakes…   then the flu set in.  It descended on us like rain.  Two days after Xmas the mood was grim. Things were bad, the bathrooms were in high demand.  Steve and his twin brother were hit pretty badly.  They each took an adjacent sofa a blanket and wet face towel to keep on their forehead.   It was hard to say which of the convalescent was which.  Twins tend to moan the same way when their sick.

Luckily the pregnant woman escaped unscathed.

We had to stay one more day, because Steve was in no shape to drive us back, and I was too chicken to drive stick shift in the winter through the narrow country roads that lead us out of boony town St-Anselme.

Now we’re back. Steve is still afflicted but not defeated.  Hopefully he’ll be okay by tomorrow.