I, Podius

Copyright

Linda Escaip

"I may be grumpy,

but I like you."

The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.

Welcome to my journal, poopsie.

I, Podius

21-Feb-2005

5:17 p.m.

I am certain my two-year-old nephew is sensitive and brilliant. The other day he heard a snippet of a classical piece of music and said to my sister, "Oh, Mommy! Sounds just like flowers!" To relate sound to something visual seems beyond what you might expect from a very young child. But then, they are often poets, dispersing beauty and truth so simply that it can waft right over our heads.

I have recently been experiencing the feeling of innocence for a moment here and there. The idea of innocence has bothered me for years; it seems to be attached to some Christian idea of children, and how as we grow up we become soiled or tarnished. I'm guessing the unsightliness occurs when we start using our own minds and stop agreeing with everything our parents say and do, because we are, after all, taught to honour them at all times. I recall my 7th grade Bible teacher slinging some rubbish at us about children being innocent until the age of two or three, when they suddenly become these soiled little sinners. But the innocence I've been feeling isn't related to the Christian, "wholesome" variety; these moments are glimpses into how I would feel if I stopped bombarding my mind with self-targeted shit. In those instances I am free of that garbage, which to me seems to translate into innocence. Untouched—I guess by my own cruel thoughts, anyway.

And it is interminably lovely, that feeling. When it goes I long for its return, and while it lasts for a few brief moments, I savour it very quietly, so as not to disturb. It comes on quickly and seemingly out of nowhere. I'm amazed at how light I can feel, unburdened by the weight of self doubt and unfounded punishment. In those moments I am given an opportunity to watch myself without judgment, and it's as if the layers of useless crud are stripped away. Too bad they find their way back, the bastards. Well, however fleeting, I'm grateful for the respite.

Wow, I've been a sinner for a long time now. Happy to be one, really. I quite enjoy a good sin here and there. Some days I'll go all out and have myself a real hardcore sinfest. Like today. Today I committed murder in the bathroom, again (ants). "Sinfest '05" (that would be the title if the local news stations were to get wind of this fascinating story. When it rains for more than two days, they have their graphic artists get to work on special banners for newsworthy events like "Rainstorm '05". They're not terribly creative with the titles, unfortunately.) Yeah, I sin it up from time to time. Everybody needs a little excitement.

I've got 95 songs on my new iPod mini. I have only purchased two online, the rest are from my CD collection. The second song I bought was "Can't Change Me" by Chris Cornell, and the first you would never guess in a gazillion years even if you were super-psychic and were wearing (for backup purposes) accurate x-ray goggles which enabled you to see my thoughts. So, I'll tell you. The first song I bought online was "Monster Mash" by Bobby 'Boris' Pickett. I still have the 45 record from a hundred years ago, but we are sans turntable, so I have not enjoyed the delight that is "Monster Mash" in ages. And now it's mine! Unless the computer explodes and melts and takes the iPod with it before I have a chance to burn it to a disc. Burning, ripping—it's all so violent. I remember when we just recorded shit from the radio on our little portable tape recorders and thought we rocked. Sometimes the DJ would cut off the ending of a song with his booming voice, but that was OK. We could always call the radio station again later to request the song, and hope he kept his voice out of it. I don't remember any female disc jockeys from the 70s. I think the only DJ I remember is Charlie Tuna. I pictured the Starkist Tuna dude. Those were the days.

I brought my music with me when I went for a walk earlier and it was heaven. I listened to my "Guys" playlist. I also have a "Dolls" playlist. I could become addicted to making playlists. Since I don't know how to make cheese or knit (yet), I'll make those instead. Speaking of knitting, I want to learn. I'm ready to have wads of yarn I carry with me in some snazzy knitting tote wherever I go. I want to experience The Knitting Person's Meditation. My mom said there's an instructional knitting show on one of the cable channels. I'm all over it. And when I start playing out again, I'll give away socks, mittens, and scarves at the shows. Hell yeah. Rock and roll.

Apparently it's trendy again to be bisexual. My friend's kids let her in on the news. I was bisexual for a while, but I've never been bicoastal, which is something I've always wanted to try. Wasn't it Freud who believed everyone is bisexual? Maybe it's true. Since we're more than just our bodies, it makes perfect sense to me. When I was in school you didn't tell people you had a huge crush on someone of the same sex—no way. You made fun of lesbos and found a way to inch lesbo-related insults into just about any conversation to throw people off track. Oh, wait, that was me. Sorry. Anyway, celebrate your bisexuality, you trendy thing.