Ice is Nice

A trip I dreamed about since I was a kid. The airway to Iqaluit (Nunavut, Ca) is paved with good white intentions...

My Butterflies

When I was little, my parents, especially my grandparents, used to tell me that I behaved and spoke as if I had butterflies in my head. I was too naughty and too restless for their pace.

Thirty years latter, my butterflies have gone all the way down to my stomach. And it’s so very hard to agitate them. Maybe they’ve grown older or something because I very very rarely feel them. But it’s a sweet quick moment when they start opening their wings in a tiny little inside tornado. And it happens only when my inside eyes show me long-lost people and the funny things we did together. Because those people are all gone and have taken their belongings with them. So here I am, with my butterflies that will soon become moths and eat my dreams from inside out.

Sundown

Life is just a projection... against a white wall, in the autumn sunset light...

What’s in a smile?

Today, my happy smile has got a small sad thought hanging down my lips. There are still reminiscences of those days when I was convinced that he was there to stay. When I was feeling protected but insecure about what was to happen. When I was childishly spreading my arms to get all the hugs and all his smiles, to keep all of them for me only. And, like the kids often waking up in the middle of the night reaching out for their loyal teddy bear, I suddenly found myself hugging the emptiness. Bitter tears, shattered glass, dim light, barricaded doors, nights, nights, nights…

Until now, when this man makes me laugh with his witty grace, with his tons of stories. I sometimes think that he makes up some just to see me laughing. But I am not that child anymore, I don’t even look for hugs and I don’t expect anything. Smiling is just a façade, while my mind is busy living in the past.

Day dreaming

For a couple of seconds, with my eyes wide open, I had the following dream: wearing a black dress, I was dancing (partner unknown) with an unbelievable grace. But I stopped because I remembered I have a kid at home who is waiting for me. OMG, what if this is true? What if my brain is tired of commanding me to wear boots and kaki clothes? What if it is sick of reflecting rock music in its circumvolutions and of managing my clumsy moves? What if my brain wants a child? Would a brain and a vegetable get along?

Mediocrity management

Where is the problem coming from if:
- you have one of the easiest jobs that you have ever had, and
- still, you consider the results of your work as being mediocre, with standarts that are way lower to those you are able to deliver

Is it me or is it the lack of management vision? Or what else could it be? What is to be done before going crazy?

It's time to paint

Time is a canvas on which every one of us is painting their own life. When we finish it, we take the painting and hang it on the wall of our eternity bedroom.