Just Say No to Bad Touch Anthony

I’m currently working with someone I have to be very abrasive and uncommunicative with. Any friendliness on my part unleashes a torrent of emailed suggestions which, were I to seriously consider any of them, would take me all day to sort out. I think he's just bored.

In other news, my dietary habits are changing again, probably for the worst. Most types of meat make my stomach feel queasy, and lately I approach things like ham, chicken and fish with the same repulsion I imagine a Hasidic Jew would feel were someone to suggest he wear a helmet made of bacon. Or she, let’s not be sexist here.

I haven’t tried pork in a while, so I don’t know how far-reaching my new phobia (or heavy-handed my misguided analogy) might be.

On the other hand, I’ve been eating an alarming volume of chocolate, ice cream, biscuits and various soft and boiled sweets. I have no resistance to sugar it seems, and I’m beginning to wonder if this is the same path my father trod to reach type 1 diabetes. Depression begat alcoholism, alcoholism begat sugar, sugar begat regular visits to the optometrist and the abolishment of sugar altogether, etc.

Meanwhile, Canada grows ever closer (not due to the ‘crunch crunch crunch’ of plate tectonics, as narrated by my first year geography professor, but because we’re flying there in a week, yeah?). My mother asked us to send her a list of what we wanted from big to small, even though we insisted we didn’t want anything. Now she’s making me feel awkward about the list and I can’t think *why.

She’s also sent me an email I’m still trying to reply to. In it she says something about needing to locate the source of a Dadaist image she refers to in her book, Christ knows why, and some bit of lyrical poetry that smacks worryingly of her own invention (though I am a kind and good daughter and will let her continue searching for it in the real world if it makes her feel better).

Is it strange that I’m still looking forward to Christmas?

Or that I desperately want to learn how to speak like my colleague Lenore? When she’s having a personal conversation over the phone, she doesn’t just lower her voice to a whisper – it’s like she can decrease her own volume by turning a radio dial to nearly OFF. It’s incredible, really. That I’ve only ever seen her consume hot water and bowls of cereal suggests to me that she has full control over her faculties.

Most days I have full control over nothing. Sometimes it makes me feel a bit edgy, like anything could happen and that’s a bad thing. Other times, I’m glad there’s little self-continuity, because when I achieve something that requires me to be organised, I feel like I’ve just climbed a mountain.

And my mutability means I’m more susceptible to trends and such, which is important, because I’ve seen girls wearing oversized skinny jeans and I know they missed the point entirely.

Or if I see a girl wearing a winter coat with interesting double-peaked sewn sleeves, I think I could work those sleeves and then probably I would try.




*Because she’s madder than a toy box full of crazy, maybe.