Dream

*sigh* I’m exhausted. I had work this morning. When I have to get up in the morning, I become very stressed the night before and I’m unable to fall asleep. I can’t take my sleeping pills because I’m tired of taking sleeping pills and because at least 12 hours pass between the time of my taking them and the time I am actually able to do something.

So I slept through the morning…and the beginning of the afternoon. I got up at 1:30, angry at myself for missing not only work, but my group therapy in the afternoon. I have such difficulty keeping up with the things I have to do. It doesn’t help that I have about as much discipline as a kitten.

I still went to the hospital, because I had some papers to get, things that should help me “work on myself”. I also went shopping. I absolutely hate shopping. I get tired, with a headache, I can’t find what I want, there are people everywhere, you get the picture. I bought a pair of jeans. It’s ridiculously hard to find a pair of jeans at a decent price. I’m certainly not paying 100$ and more for jeans. I don’t give a shit if it’s written “Guess” on the label inside. I buy jeans because they’re comfortable, you can wear them in many different contexts and they do not break easily. I ended up buying some, but for more than I wished to pay. Amanda wouldn’t be very proud of me for that part, but if she saw the general state of my wardrobe, she would probably run away screaming.

I also bought something for Eric and myself. It’s small, green and stuffed, with an enormous nose. It’s Yoshi! I couldn’t resist entering both game shops I passed by. There were plenty of games (and consoles!) I wanted, but I opted for a stuffed Yoshi for now. I must keep some money for other things, you know. Like that thing I like to do every day, where you take things and put them into your mouth, then you digest them. I kind of like doing that, and, well, I need money to buy the things in question.

I arrived about an hour before Eric, and was surprised when I saw he was not alone. He had brought his mother and two other people, and a bunch of things he was moving in. We got a new kitchen table, a lot of Christmas decorations, clothes, linens and an Atari 2600, with several games.

I keep telling Eric to stop bringing fucking Christmas decorations. We didn’t decorate last Christmas, and I highly doubt we will on the next. I’m gone on Christmas holidays, and both of my roommates spend the holidays working and visiting family members. When I would actually be here, Beatrice would gladly eat every decoration she can get her paws and teeth on. Not only that, but they take a lot of space. The wardrobe downstairs is pretty much full.

As for the kitchen table, well, we already had one…We managed to find room for everything, but the first floor will be as full of furniture as it can be. There are already two couches, one large armchair, four bookshelves…

The Atari still works. I’m looking forward to trying it. The oldest console I played with was the Nintendo Entertainment System, which was not yet an “old thing everyone throws away” when I was a kid.

I’ll spare you the emotional details for now, I just want a break. And my daily dose of Phoenix Wright. I have one case to go before the very last case of the series! Fortunately they have started another series, Appolo Justice. Mhm, Phoenix Wright goodness.

Il y a toutes sorte d’académiciens. En France, ils ont l’Académie française, et c’est juste une des…”choses” académiques qu’ils ont. Ici, au Québec, on a été atteint par l’académisme cinématographique.

Kossé cé ça? En gros, c’est les universitaires, les théoriciens, et leur façon de penser, leurs opinions, leurs “mots de 6 pieds de long”. Les Universités, elles sont pas si mal, elles sont même très bien. C’est génial qu’on puisse avoir une éducation avancée dans un domaine qui nous intéresse. Ce qui m’emmerde, c’est de voir ce que mon cinéma est dans une université.

Moi, je l’aime, le cinéma. Il est beau, il est génial, c’est comme si tous les arts se mettaient ensemble dans une grosse orgie, ou une grosse danse pour les puritains. Il y a Fred Astaire qui fait des steppettes en chantant l’amour à une belle star, il y a la bande de Monty Python qui massacre nos mythes et légendes à grands coups de trouvailles merveilleuses et de blagues inoubliables, c’est de la peinture, de la photo, du théâtre, de la poésie, de la littérature…C’est tout nouveau et on y trouve des principes vieux comme le monde. Quand je regarde le making of d’un film comme The Dark Crystal (Jim Henson), je trippe. On voit les accessoiristes (comme si c’était vraiment juste des accessoires, qu’ils faisaient!) qui créent et peignent les décors, les maquettes et les personnages. C’est génial! Pour moi, c’est ça, le cinéma. C’est beau, c’est triste, c’est violent, c’est doux, c’est enfantin, c’est gai, c’est bouleversant, c’est stupide, c’est superbe.

C’est pas juste ma dépression qui m’a fait lâché l’université. C’est aussi l’ennui profond devant les études qui m’attendaient. Dans une université, en cinéma, on est assis devant quelqu’un qui fait de la masturbation intellectuelle à longueur de journée. Et quand on fait ça trop souvent, on devient aveugle pour vrai, pas comme avec l’autre sorte de masturbation! On devient aveugle au vrai, au touchable, on palpable. Et ils parlent, les intellos, ce qu’ils aiment parler. Ils aiment les mots d’une drôle de façon. Ils aiment les mots parce que c’est des mots, ils les laissent courir dans leur bouche ou sur le papier. Ils ont des livres entiers qui existent juste pour expliquer ou justifier un mot. Leurs mots existent juste pour les mots.

Comme je disais, je l’aime ma langue. J’aime le français, c’est beau. C’est la langue que j’aime le mieux utiliser en poésie, c’est là que je me laisse le plus aller. Ça me vient tout seul, le bon mot se place. Mais ma poésie, je l’attache toujours à quelque chose. “Ce poème-là, je l’ai écrit après que ça soit arrivé.” “Le loup dans ce poème-là, c’est pas un loup, c’est telle personne.” J’aime ça être terre-à-terre. Quand je me laisse aller à rêvasser, je me fais avoir ou je me perds complètement dans un monde qui n’existe pas.

Les académiciens, naturellement, il y en a pas juste qui parlent de cinéma. Il y en a pour qui ce qui est Important, c’est de Préserver la Langue. Mais parfois je me demande s’ils savent vraiment ce que ça veut dire.

Radio-Canada a un petit livre qui dit à leurs employés comment parler à la télévision. “Stationnement”, par exemple, c’est mal. Il faut dire parking. C’est bien plus français. Oups! Non, j’ai mis une minuscule. C’est Français. La différence? Et bien, sans majuscule, on parle de la langue. Avec une majuscule, on parle de la nationalité. Je n’ai rien contre les Français. Ils ont leur façon de parler, c’est bien normal. Ils peuvent dirent parking s’ils veulent. Ils peuvent appeler leurs enfants des gosses s’ils veulent. Mais, moi, je suis une Québécoise.

Ma grand-mère, quand elle compte, dit “une, deusse, troisse”. Moi je parle pas juste français. Je parle québécois, je parle joual. Et je suis fière!

Voyons voir ce que Le Petit Robert nous dit là-dessus. Mon Petit Robert, je l’ai gagné à l’école parce que j’étais bollée. Les mots doivent être bons, alors, non? Une langue, d’après Robert, c’est un « [s]ystème d’expression et de communication commun à un groupe social».

Autrement dit, une langue, c’est comment que le monde y parlent. Je sais pas pour vous, mais, moi, j’ai appris à parler d’abord par mes parents. Ma mère est professeur (elle est rendue directrice, mais c’est tout récent, elle était prof quand j’étais enfant). Elle a été à l’université et tout, mais ses parents sont des fermiers. Leur éducation, ils l’ont pris dans la vie. Mon père, lui, est bûcheron. Son père avait un diplôme, quelque chose de prestigieux à l’époque, mais il a été malade et a dû arrêter son travail. Il était mécanicien de machineries lourdes. Ma langue, elle vient un peu des deux. L’école, c’est venu après. Je suis encore en contact avec plusieurs personnes qui sont allées à l’école avec moi, et il reste qu’il y a des différences entre nous. Malgré les différences, on a des points communs. On sait c’est quoi un stationnement, par exemple.

Où je veux en venir avec tout ça? Je pense que Radio-Canada et tous les académiciens devraient sortir de leurs bureaux et regarder le peuple, ou plutôt l’écouter. C’est bien beau les standards. Les standards web, par exemple, sont quelque chose que j’essaie de respecter autant que possible, parce que ça promeut l’accessibilité des sites.

Les standards des académiciens pour la langue française au Québec, c’est autre chose. Un standard basé sur un idéal irréaliste parce qu’il ne correspond pas du tout à la réalité. Attendez un peu, là…voyons voir…Pourquoi j’ai le mot “fasciste” en tête? Bien sûr, je ne traite pas Radio-Canada de fasciste. Mais il y a un point en commun, selon moi. Vouloir baser une société sur un idéal qu’on ne peut pas atteindre, ça peut mener loin. Les Québécois ont leur façon de parler. Je refuse qu’on se cache derrière des principes linguistiques qu’on a pas inventés. Je respecte les Français et leurs choix, mais moi, je veux garder ma langue. Je l’aime.

Pour mettre sur pieds des standards avec une langue, il faut d’abord se baser sur ce qui existe déjà dans la vie. Les Québécois ont leur propre prononciation de certains mots, avec des variations entre les localités, et ils ont leurs mots de vocabulaire uniques. Chérissons-les, embrassons-les, crions-les haut et fort. Une langue, ça dit notre histoire, ça dit tout haut qui nous sommes et d’où nous venons. Nous descendons des Français et il y en a encore qui s’installent ici, et nous communiquons encore régulièrement avec eux. Mais nous sommes des Québécois. Il y a des familles ici depuis plus de 300 ans. Affirmons-nous.

I’m again stealing Jem’s ideas. This time, though, she *told* me to steal her idea.

So, here’s the deal in a few brief sentences (it looks like, if I get too lengthy, people tend to believe I am drunk. Or maybe it’s a British thing). Terry Pratchett donated 1 million dollars (yes, the article speaks of dollars) to Alzheimer research. Fans are united to “match” it.

This isn’t a contest, of course. It’s a donation. I must admit I haven’t yet gotten around to reading any book by Pratchett. The idea isn’t of supporting him. You don’t have to admit to his talent or anything. You just have to be wiling to donate. All it takes is 500,000 people donating 2$ each. If you can’t afford that much but are still willing to donate, go ahead. If you absolutely can’t afford to donate (or are a greedy little bastard), you can post this on your blog or otherwise spread the word.

The starting LiveJournal post, the Match It For Pratchett campaign, UK Alzheimer’s Research Trust and US-based Alzheimer’s Research Fundation. I’m looking for a Canadian-based one now.

This post has been inspired by Jem’s gardening post. I, lyke, totally stole her idea and she’ll sue me. Er, sorry he’ll sue me. Isn’t he a Jim dude, anyway?

Well, enough of this. Before I was a geek in Montreal, I was a unsatisfied geek in a small village in the CENTER of the province. If I hear anyone say that Abitibi is in the North, I will hit their face with the nearest map I can find. Thank you.

As true children of farmers (well, each on their own side, they weren’t siblings! :P), my parents have always loved growing their own garden. My mother’s parents are still alive and taking care of a garden, where they grow various vegetables (potatoes, lettuce, etc.), and also a greenhouse for tomatoes and cucumbers (both of these can have a bit of a hard time if they are directly outside in our freezing temperature. Because, you know, we wear winter coats from August to June.

Enough of sarcasm, now, gardening is serious business. My father’s parents both died in the 1960s, so I never had the chance to see them but, in addition to my grandparents’ garden, there was my parents’ one. Potatoes, carrots, green peas, rhubarb, broccoli, raspberries, they’re all things I’ve seen growing in there.

While, for certain reasons, I will not speak much about bugs found in gardens, and tend to stay away from growing vegetables, I haven’t lost my memory so easily. So here are a few tips and memories of mine.

Fertilizer

My parents have bought more than once fertilizer sold by companies, made from sheep shit manure and other similar things. They however have two other methods to fertilize the soil.

First, my father keeps horses. Horse manure can be used in gardens. Of course, you don’t replace the earth by manure! I couldn’t speak in terms of quantity at all. Naturally, when you put your nose at five inches from manure, it stinks. It doesn’t stay, however and, mixed with the earth, it can fill it with all sorts of goodies to help your veggies grow. In “layman’s terms”, as would say GLaDOS. Of course, not everyone can access horse manure easily and it’s not something you just steal in your neighbor’s backyard. Not that there’s anything you should steal in your neighbor’s backyard in the first place!

Second, my parents have kept compost for as long as I can remember. Making your own compost is very easy. You just need to keep aside in a container of some kind what you will put in your compost (I’ll mention more about what can and cannot be used shortly). What my mother does is to keep a smaller plastic pot under the sink. When we cook, we just need to put parts of plants that we do not use (for example, the leaves of radishes) into the pot. When the pot is full, we empty it outside.

When I was younger, we had a large wooden container in which the compost was kept outside, to be spread in the garden at the right time. Nowadays, however, my mother keeps it directly on the soil, not far from trees along the riverside. Since we have a large yard and no neighbor on this side (hey, I just said river, after all), it poses no problem. There is no bad smell coming from there and, if you do not put unwanted matters, there shouldn’t be.

So this brings us to what exactly you can and cannot put inside compost. Generally, what you can put is:

• Leaves from plants, even if the leaves in question are not normally eaten, like in the case of rhubarb.
• Vegetables and fruits you do not consume because they are no longer “fresh” (I refuse to use the appropriate r-word because I’m in a bad mood for that).
• Any other part of a plant which you do not eat, by choice or because it simply doesn’t taste good.

In brief, you can put anything from plants. The key here is to put nothing from animals. Absolutely no fat, no bones, no broth, no meat, no shells, no liver, etc. If it’s an animal, it belongs away from your compost (unless, of course, it’s an animal that will necessarily go in your compost, like that w-thing that will remain nameless). By the way, if, like me, you are afraid of those “w-things”, then absolutely refrain from making your own compost! Not only there WILL be some in it, but they are an IMPORTANT part of the composting process.

Keeping Unwanted Visitors Away

I’m not talking here about sneaky humans, for which you’ll need more than any of the tips I will list here, but about other animals.

Dogs are generally pretty easy to keep out of gardens. A small fence should be enough. My dog keeps away from the garden at all times, and we only have a short fence (no higher than 2 feet).

If you have a cat, it might be a bit more tricky, above all if you have plants that are not inside a fence-protected garden. A good method is to combine ways to discourage the cat from visiting your plants with ways to encourage your cats to go elsewhere. One of the reasons a cat might “pay a visit” to a plant is to use it as a litter. It feels more natural, I guess, since cats in nature use earth, not litter. It is important to make sure that the actual litter in itself is clean, so that your cat enjoys using it. Keep toys for your cat if it’s young so that the plants don’t look too much like interesting toys.

Then you can easily use methods that are environment-friendly to keep your cat away from plants. A few rocks around the plant will make the earth inaccessible. Just make sure that, when you water it, the earth gets the water, and that the rocks aren’t keep the plant from spreading around.

There are also smells that cats cannot stand, such as lemon. I will be making a bit more research into plants that can keep your cat away.

Well, that’s it for garden tips for now. I might come up with more eventually.

These Boots Are Made For Walking

Unrelated to gardening, I have bought new winter boots. Woot! After weeks of complaining, it was about time…I caught a cold last week, and I’m pretty sure it’s due to having spent the whole day in wet shoes and socks.

The boots in question are quite like I wanted, which is great at this time of the year, as there are barely any boots still for sale. There are sandals everywhere because, you know, everyone wants to wear sandals right now, in the snow.

The boots are black, like I wanted, fit me very well and have no high heels. Isn’t this wonderful? To add to the wonderfulness of them, they were not expensive! Hurray! Their original price was 90$ (before taxes) and I got them for 30$ (before taxes). Reduction or not, I consider that 30$ is a pretty good price to pay for boots—good, as in, really not too much—and it’s great to have a good reduction either way.

I am not stopping my medication.

My prescription is over. Inexistent. “Kaput”, we say (yes, from the German word, but the meaning has changed). No more prescription for me…for now.

It’s not that I’m supposed to stop taking Paxil, it’s just that I can’t contact my psychiatrist. I have called several times over the past three weeks. I got a reply by a human being about three times. I have left a message on the answering machine. Not once, but twice. I clearly stated my name, my phone number and my request (i.e. to take an appointment with psychiatrist Mary Smith—fictive name, duh!).

The two or three times I could speak with the secretary, I could never be put in contact with the psychiatrist herself. I left a message at least once, giving the same information as on my message on the answering machine. I called again this morning and, when I asked if it was possible to speak with the psychiatrist directly, I was told she was in an “entrevue” (that would be an appointment).

I haven’t taken my medication for three days. I’m not sure what the emotional impact is, but I can certainly feel how it goes physically. I feel weird. I can’t find words to describe that particular feeling, it’s unique to when I’m out of medication. It’s not pain, it’s some sort of “waves” of weirdness that go through my body once in a while.

Then, after a longer period has passed (i.e. after two or three days), the sleepiness takes over. I will sleep on and on and will be unable to stay awoke for long period of times (i.e. a few hours).

Today, thus, was the sleepy day. I have never been more than three days out of medication and, happily, that will not be the case now. I went to the drugstore and explained my situation, and they gave me 15 pills without any further questions. Naturally, I must still get in contact with my psychiatrist. I won’t be able to do that all the time, else anyone could just get medication whenever they feel like it.

Eric said that if I mention clearly to the secretary that I need a renewal of my anti-depressants prescription, I should be able to at least get in touch with the doctor directly to at least get a renewal, even if I don’t get an appointment before some time. That sort of things must be doable on the phone or something for her (I remember my physician did that).

So, well, that explains the lack of a geeky post today. I got up around 9am, but after two or three hours I was back in bed and slept throughout the whole afternoon. I was quite disappointed because I would have loved to attend my group therapy. Now that I have my medication, though, things should go fine and I should be able to add some shiny new content soon.