Ophélie Lechat

Image: Naka7a on Flickr

I’ve had a sore throat since Saturday and it’s really putting a damper on my days.  It’s always there, nagging at me, stabbing every time I swallow.  The (temporary) cure?  Cup after cup of hot tea with lemon and a tablespoon of honey.  I tried those throat-numbing lozenges, but they only made my mouth numb and didn’t get to my tonsils.

The weather has been gorgeous in Montreal: there’s no snow on the porch, J. has taken his bike out for a few rides, and I’m wondering whether I should grow a balcony garden.  I tried last year but the squirrels ate everything.

Soon it will be warm enough to hang the sheets out on the line, to have morning tea on the balcony, to walk to the metro without a heavy wool jacket and snow boots.  Sometimes I think we stay in this cold city because we love the feeling of spring so much.

I told myself that if I cleaned the kitchen and dealt with my paperwork, I could go check out Ariadne’s sale.  I did, and came home with some very nice, very useful yarn.  You know what rocks?  Not being absolutely-totally-broke.  Having some leeway.  Being nervous about my upcoming trip to the dentist because I don’t like the tooth polisher, not because I’m afraid I won’t be able to pay the bill.

Now I’m home, it’s late, I’m working.  I think I work better at night.  I enjoy the daylight, go outside, relax.  When it gets dark, I can work.

–

You know what I miss?  Target Women.  I re-watched all of them yesterday because I found out that Sarah Haskins wasn’t making them anymore.

I also miss Salad Fingers (warning: creepy).  When I was in CEGEP, I used to watch these late at night, between coming home from a late shift at the coffee shop and getting up at 6 to go to class.  I’ve always loved creeping myself out.

These days, when I’m alone at home and want to scare myself into insomnia, I read about plane crashes and disaster zones.  I read about survival in unlikely situations.

Most of these tips actually make me feel less empowered and more vulnerable.  I need to take a first-aid course, I need to get stronger, I need to learn to fix cars and shoot guns and start fires in the wilderness.

A few days ago I was joking with Marc-André that I could have a series of books, like the Martine ones, except mine would be Ophélie goes to the yarn shop, Ophélie takes too many courses, Ophélie and the not-good anxiety.

Add another one: Ophélie goes to the gym.

I’ve been doing Ashtanga yoga two or three times a week since July, and I love the results, both external and internal.  Now, though, I feel like I need more cardio: I get the urge to jump on a bike and go for a long ride.  I’m a wimp who isn’t willing to bike in -12c weather, and I don’t have a proper bike, so  I decided to join a gym.

On Tuesday I grabbed my gym clothes, water bottle and lock, and made my way across town to my university gym.  Those places fill me with anxiety — everyone is so fit, everyone looks like they know what they’re doing, aren’t they going to roll their eyes at the new girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing?

Well.  I got lost on the way to the cardio room.  This place is huge, there was no map, it was full of football players.  Then  I realized I’d left my pass in my locker.  I went back.  I finally got settled on the elliptical trainer when someone tapped me on the shoulder.

“Where’s your towel?”

The gym attendant kicked me out. I tried my best: It’s my first time!  I don’t have any cash on me to rent a towel! I’ll try my very best not to sweat and get the machine dirty!

Nope.  I went to yoga instead.  It was comfortable and friendly, everyone smiled at each other, and while there might have been a football player in the room, he wasn’t intimidating in the least.

“In the gospel according to Émile, there is a parable about a man from Galilee – or maybe it was Verdun.

Anyway, he goes to a store and asks for a bicycle.
The saleswoman says, “I have no bicycles but I could sell you a car.”
He says, “I don’t want a car, I want a bicycle.”
She says, “Bicycles are outdated, not as efficient, and not as durable in all weather conditions.”
He says, “True, but I still want a bicycle.”
She says, “Cars are not as bad as they used to be. All you need to do is make small alterations to your house in order to build a garage for your new car.”
He says, “If you can’t offer me a bicycle, then I will have to take my business elsewhere.”
And she takes him to court.”

Go read the rest at the wonderful, wonderful Spacing Montreal.

… the offensive nature of some words in some contexts, this is what was going through my mind, explained much more eloquently than I ever could.

Yes, I was one of those people constantly refreshing Twitter at work so I could find out the name and specs of the Apple tablet.

(On that note: I had a good laugh over the reactions to the name — I think #iTampon was at the top of Twitter trends for a good while today –, but my personal opinion is more along the lines of, really, that’s funny?  Even Feministing got all giggly and weird about it.  No one said anything about the ThinkPad, did they?)

Anyhow.  The iPad hasn’t become my new iWant.  That’s still the iPod Touch, but only because I refuse to sign another three year contract with Fido to get an iPhone.  Imagine!  I could check my email anywhere!  Completely abolish the work/life barrier!

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I had an hour to waste between my (wonderful, awesome) internship and tutoring, so I got a hot chocolate and walked around downtown in the snow.  Those were the biggest snow flakes I’ve ever seen, falling slowly but almost vertically.  After awhile, it stopped being pretty and became irritating.  I walked into Picks and had a rather delicious burger with caramelized onions, gouda and aioli on some kind of amazing ciabatta-like bun.

And now I’m home, doing that thing where I put all kinds of expensive cashmere yarns in my Etsy cart and then close the browser before I actually buy all of it.

When I was six years old, my aunt took me to Disney World.  We drove down from Montreal with three other people.  I had to eat many kinds of vegetables and fruit every day, but once that was done, I could indulge at the ice cream bar as much as I pleased.

One night, I made the sundae to rule all sundaes.  This thing was huge: chocolate ice cream, sprinkles, cherries, caramel sauce.  Six year-old me couldn’t finish half of it.  I got a stern lesson that night about biting off more than I could chew.

It’s been a good while since, but I’m finding that lesson valuable right now.

There are things I need: regular yoga classes, time to write in my journal with a cup of tea, time to grab coffee with friends, time to knit and listen to the radio.  When I start thinking that I’m invincible and that I don’t need these things, that I can volunteer, work, tutor, help, learn instead, I rob myself of that time.  I begin to have mini anxiety attacks, I don’t sleep well, my arms shake during yoga practice.

I think it’s time to pare down to the work I love, the work I’m great at, and to withdraw myself from the rest.

I was reading an article tonight about manifestations of the emotional self being expressed by the body.  (When did I turn into such a hippie?)  I realized that my anxiety attacks, my less-than-ideal communications and my restless nights have a source.

That tattoo on my arm, the one that says “knowledge is power”?  It applies to knowledge of myself, too.  I need to keep that in mind now.

I missed my yoga class this morning, but I still got a good workout by walking from the metro in the snow and the wind.  Later I’ll go shovel the front steps and that should complete my cardio requirements for the day!

It’s beautiful out there once you’re inside, drinking tea and writing.

Decided I need some work clothes and a Myriade latté.  Got the latté, the first since December 22nd, the night before I went to Mexico.

(Oh yeah, I just came back from Mexico. Gorgeous weather, great hotel, the food was delicious, I didn’t tan, I only brought back one bottle of Tequila and no, you can’t have it.)

So I was walking around downtown, and while many of the clothes were dirt-cheap discounted for post-Christmas madness, I didn’t like any of them.  Nothing fit right, the fabrics were all cheap, the seams were crooked.   Then I realized that I loved what I was currently wearing, and that it was all vintage.  I trekked down the hill to ERA Vintagewear, where I spent a lovely afternoon trying on suits and walking around in high-heeled sandals.  Wonderful.

Since getting back from Mexico, my evenings have been spent sitting in our living room (J. re-did it while I was gone, our books are finally on shelves, which reminds me that I don’t need to buy any new ones.) drinking tea (or Hendrick’s and tonic!) and reading The Joy of Cooking as if it were a novel.  Sometimes I’ll watch a TV show while knitting the beautiful Skara Brae sweater, and once in awhile I’ll get hungry and cook something from the book — on the 31st it was Mushrooms on Toast, which is much more decadent than it sounds.