Shudder shock of pale.

I'm piecing my peace back together, how about you?

I've felt on edge, out of sorts and completely consumed with MYSELF this past week. This past month. Or two.

When I'm going about my daily livings, one of two things will occur:

1. I feel like an absolute and massively cumbersome idiot. How is it Sarah, that you can spend so much time talking about what you're "going to do" and so little time doing it? How is it Sarah, that you cannot find the words or actions to properly comfort/encourage/love someone who needs it? How is it Sarah, that you cannot finish a degree in the same time span it takes everyone else? HOW DO YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF?!

2. Or, I feel like everybody around is me a complete and total idiot. How is it McDonald's worker, that you do not know the difference between a plain sandwich and one that is covered in condiment and vegetables? How is it truck/car/van driver, that you have your license when you cannot signal to turn/merge properly/DRIVE? How is it boyfriend/best friend/family member that you cannot grasp these simple concepts I have properly outlined for you? HOW DID I GET TO BE SO MUCH SMARTER THAN EVERY ASSHAT IN THIS CITY?!

It's a funny thing, this coexisting. I never was a team player.

You know how when girls are middle school-ish age they all want to be the Hannah Montanas of the world? They dream of big stages and bright lights. Or at least, I would assume (through my careful observations as a nanny) that the average young girl does.

When I was in grade seven I fell in love with... Emily Dickinson. Although I still find her poetry astonishingly beautiful, it was her life that enthralled me when I first read of her. She was a total recluse, who never left her house and kept in touch with the important people in her life through letters. She wasn't even a known poet until after her death, when all of her poems were discovered in her room.

At the tender age of twelve, I would dream of myself becoming a reclusive poetess. It seems, much to my befuddlement, that my path to this point has been a steady one.

Mind you my tale is set in this new era - blog entries and text messages are my choice of correspondence. My poetry is a bunch of scribbles, quotes and words that rest in the coil-bound journal in my purse. Or on this site.

This post was supposed to be about the music I've been enjoying lately. It somehow progressed here. Why fight it?

But in case you need to be inspired by others through the art of song, have a listen to one, two and three.

I know that bad's got to fix itself.

I had a camera inside my body today. Ain't that cool?

It was a new one for me on the growing list of Sarah's Pointless Medical Tests. Though now that I think about it, I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner.

Now you're thinking... the female body has seven orifices, which one?! It was not my pooper, no worries. But my left nostril saw action that no nose should ever have to deal with (the right one got just a mere tickling in comparison)!

El doctoro shoved a half of a pea sized camera down my nose and into my throat to check for the bad stuff. With absolutely NO warning I might add!!! Just a "chin up" and swish into my nose. I cried.

My appointment with the specialist (ENT) this morning gave me four things that doctor visits always bestow upon me:
1. Invasive and uncomfortable tests
2. Promises/Papers to get more invasive and uncomfortable tests
3. Appointments with other doctors (yup, they're sending me to a different specialist now)
4. No answers

Are you guys sick of hearing me talk about this? I AM SO TIRED ABOUT TALKING ABOUT THIS. I feel like I've been on repeat for the past four years of my life. Seriously, go through the blog posts. Countless ones about illness, doctor's visits, medicine prescriptions, body meltdowns, sick days and everything else that makes me want to give up and live with sub-par health for as long as people with sub-par health live.

Whiny whiny whiny whiny whine whine whiny whiny. Bitch moan bitch bitch moan.

Am I overreacting? Am I a fucking hypochondriac? I hope so, I just don't want to be a Fran Drescher or a Kylie Minogue.

It makes no difference.

You likes new? You likes old? Should I go back to the drawing board?

Is the new one too cliched? Should I draw one by hand like the old one? Is photoshopping cool with all you cats?

If you have any opinions on the new header I'd like to hear them. :)

I fall asleep in hospital parking lots.

I finally got up the gumption to dye my hair back to brown. Most often I am a summer blonde, autumn brunette. But this year I have been CLINGING to summer, because I depressingly squandered mine away. I don't think there is anyone who lives here who would confuse January as a summer month. SUCK IT UP, MY DEAR.

I am now toying with the idea of taking the scissors to it. When looking at these pictures I was shocked to see how long it has gotten! I'm thinking tons of layers and just a general BIGNESS. Not high school mall kid or anything, just less sleek and more fun. Or maybe not, I don't know. My hair is never something I can definitively decide upon (as is evident by the number of hair polls this blog has seen since it began).

And something cute I found on some random crafter's blog. How to feel miserable as an artist:
1. Constantly compare yourself to other artists.
2. Talk to your family about what you do and expect them to cheer you on.
3. Base your success of your entire career on one project.
4. Stick with what you know.
5. Undervalue your expertise.
6. Let money dictate what you do.
7. Bow to societal pressures.
8. Only do work that your family would love.
9. Do whatever the client/customer/gallery owner/patron/investor asks.
10. Set unachievable overwhelming goals to be accomplished by tomorrow.

Alex².

One of my Christmas presents from Alex was this badass dude - a handmaid ookpik. For those of you who might not know, I "collect" ookpiks (meaning I have one that I drunkenly purchased while in Iqaluit). Traditionally, they are little owls around three inches tall made of seal skin.

Alex carved a piece of wood and covered it partially in fur and then individually glued on each feather. Do you remember seeing him whittle on his front deck this summer? Ookpik II was what he was working on and yes he exuded months of effort. I've found me a special lad.

I went on a VERY important date this week with Ms. Robyn McHugh. She is my true love and never ceases to amaze me with her creativeness and hilariousness. Or the fact that her heart is so loving that it shines right through the very words she speaks!

I wish everyone could have a Robyn in their lives and sometimes I dwell on the fact that in a couple years we might not be able to live in the same city - or maybe even the same country AHEM. But wherever life leads us I know we'll be able to continue our not-so-secret love affair. We have the kind of relationship that spans time zones or whatever else comes our way.

For those who are curious about my plans for this semester, here they are! I am going back to school part-time, distance classes only. This is so I am free to make my own schedule and not feel so CONFINED by my studying and subsequent grades. Somewhere between my first and forth year of university I lost my inability to separate school and life. Both suffered because of it.

This means I will be working part-time with, you guessed it, DRC and the three hooligans. I'm really excited to be child rearing again, especially since it's a make-my-own-schedule kind of deal. How lucky am I! DRC actually screamed and danced with happiness for almost ten minutes when I told her I'd like to come back. I am very much feeling the love.

I am slowly trying to regain my blog mojo. 40 posts for 2009? I think that says a lot about the kind of year I endured. Like you know whatever.