from happyrobot - updated 6/9/2026 11:17:12 PM https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp en-us https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=8371

"heart of life" on repeat and a glass of some "see ya Later" Pinot Noir. And a laptop. and my reply...

I was missing things tonight. I was missing my life. Not like it was gone and I wanted it back, but rather that it was something much like a tv show and I got home late from somewhere and missed it. Or a baseball, that damned if I try, I just couldn't hit. and I was missing it. Strike one! two! three!

I'm out?

I was missing the sore shoulder I get from playing guitar too much. that line that remains on my the sesitive part of my arm when I lean it on the top of my guitar. I was missing that feeling of resting my chin on the wood and feeling the chords in my teeth like when I was a kid and I used to sit up at the front of my family's tin boat and rest my chin on the metal bow and let the hum of the motor vibtrate through my skull.

I was missing the feeling of his head against my chest and his hair in my fingers and the smell of wood in his neck. Sawdust stuck on sweat.

I was missing hearing him say "I love you so much" lying sideways in the dark, just before sleep.

I was missing the kind of friends that sit beside you and say nothing for hours. I was missing the front seat on a long summer car ride with good tunes and a beer between my knees.

I was missing my mother.

I was missing your cooking.

So I went for a walk and came home and did my dishes and wrote a song and then this email.

thanks for being the kind of person that understands them.

love g
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=7633 10. The Spell-out

A simple technique used for emphasis and fun with choreography. The spell-out does two things. It asks the question and it answers the question. How's that spelled? It's spelled this way. See YMCA.

9. The Expletive

This is when the songwriter wants to say a bad word but stops it halfway or simply sings “Shh!” in it's place. It's like maintaining technical virginity. You WANT to do it, you ACT like you will and then do as MUCH as you can without actually doing it. That shh! is bananas. (B-A-N-A-N-A-S!)

8. The Call and Response

Ahh...audience participation. I say “Ho!” and you say “HO!” and then I say “HO! HO!” and then you say “HO! HO!” and then you wave your hands in the air like you just don't care. What's cooler than being cool? Ice cold, that's what.

7. The Key Change

This great for the anticipation factor alone...wait for it...wait for it...it gets higher here. The Key Change is great if you're Celine Dion. Celine Dion owns The Key Change. Goes really well with a swelling orchestra. Omigod, I'm ON the Titanic right now. Amazing.

6. The Guest Rapper

Everybody has this now. It's great. Pretty soon Sarah Mclachlan is going to have a guest rapper. Maybe someone from Swollen Members or oooh! Maybe K-os! Word.

5. Metaphor

Shake it like a polaroid picture. No-wait-that's simile--shh!

4. Simile

Shake it like a polaroid picture. (Whew!)

3. The Old Song and Dance

The Locomotion. The Twist. The Hokey Pokey. Bat Dance. (I HAD) The Time Of My LIfe. (and......... lift!, yesssssss!)

2. The Whistle Solo (AKA: Da Do Do Do, Da Da da da)

When you either can't think of another verse or just too plain lazy to sing intelligibly, this comes in handy. Basically this goes for any song that with the obligatory ohh ahh part. A song that exhibits both is a stroke of genius written by Mr. Bobby McFerrin called Don't Worry Be Happy. Fantastic. Get thee to itunes.

And....the number one song-writing technique that gets me off: (Drum Roll)

1. The Slow Down and Talk-Through

This is when you are a big famous artist and you're on Storytellers or VH1 or some shhh! and you realllly embellish a song. You know, sing it real slow-like and do lots of vocal fill-ins and maybe stop after a particularly poignant line. Wait for a lil cheer in the audience....maybe they'll start doing the hand motions to your Spell-out or tap their feet to the dancey bit, then when you say “HO!” they say “HO!” and they whistle along with the solo.....maybe they'll even yell out that Simile and of course THEY aren't afraid to sing the real swear word. Shit, yeah! Cause everybody's doin a brand new thang now.....]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=5196 Fell down between the crack between this last year and the new one. I finally came to with a bruise on my hip and swollen eyes.

Reaching the finish line, his face came into focus. Finally, after years of blurred features.

I sat up, realized I hadn't fallen that far. I pulled myself up by my arms in either side of the fault. Rain drops splashing on my face. It was easy without someone hanging on to me.

I had won the fucking race. I had won it and there he was. The prize. The wreath of flowers to adorn my neck. They looked like funeral flowers and I suddenly felt mournful for the race. The twists, the turns. The wipeouts in training. I heard the nails in my coffin. One. Two. Three.

Sitting now on the edge, my feet dangling into the fissure, resting. The ground shaking, the crack closing. I yanked my heavy legs out one by one. I lost my right shoe.

Now? Free. Not loved, but not alone. Rather walk singular then with a prize around my neck, weighing me down. Rather have someone ride beside me. Where I can see them.

Free. Reborn?

Ressurected.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4960 My new happyrobot mug is settling in nicely here in Vancouver.



We go for walks, we work together, play together and sometimes we just like to sit and enjoy a sunset. He also likes hanging with his buddy "Scottie" the scotch bottle.



Mug does a variety of tasks. He cleans well, writes my column for me when I'm hungover and he's always pleasant in the morning.



In fact, he can't wipe that damn smile of his face.

Happy happyrobot mug, I heart you.





[robot editor note: Genevieve wanted to do a little journal entry about her new mug, but I kept putting it off because the mug-making people were out of mugs for some reason. They are still out of mugs - waahhhh. Genevieve may have herself a collector's item here.]]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4910 I can't even describe the dream I had. You were there and you, and you. But you weren't you. You were different.

Twisting and peircing, they went in with disregard. They played Enya. My mother's favorite. I will never hear a song of hers without this feeling. Pulling. Discard. Eyes shut tight.

But I said it was ok. I wanted it.

And you asked me how old he would be. How dare you?

"He"?

Who?

No one.

You wait? If you are 4/4 time, I am 7/8. Out of time, out of sync.

Out of reach.

and reaching.

Goodbye.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4891 Coffee.
Tea.
Boozey coffee.

Soon: Scotch!]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4781 Chest, hot and burning. What time is it? I am in a ball at the bottom of our bed.

I am driving a little sports car up a huge hill to my boyfriend’s mother’s house in Toronto. There is torrents of water rushing down the hill towards me. I am driving slowly so I won’t spin my tires. They are bald.

4:30am. He tells me I was kicking my legs like I was running. I apologize. He goes back to sleep. I stare at the light filtering in the window. First blue-ish, then grey-blue. My heartburn is overwhelming.

The water has subsided to just strewn piles of wet leaves. I spin my tires until I can smell smoke. I am late to see her.

I finally give up and take a shower and a pepcid. I get dressed and put on my headphones. Coffee in hand, Coldplay in my ears, I head into another day.
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4774 Well, I guess we all know now, why I don't write screenplays.

Back to what I am semi-good at:

An Open Letter to the annoying woman with whom I share an office:

You had migraine today. Instead of shutting up about it, you gave me one.

You rambled on about how you weren't sure if you should take another migraine pill. I kept my back to you and continued to do work. You asked me if I was "even listening". I told you I was really trying hard not to.

The funny thing is, you think that's me being funny. Which makes me wonder what other rude things I can get away with saying to you.

I am sure something will come to me.]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4767 Sara and Ben

They are walking down a long walkway out from Iona Beach. He reaches to hold her hand and she holds it briefly swinging his arm. Then she hooks her arm around his neck and kisses his cheek.

Sara: I love you, Ben.

Ben: I love you too.

He stops and reaches for her hand again, looking at her intently. She squints at him and then pulls her hand away.

Sara: Let’s not do this.

Ben: When then? Never? I’m leaving tonight. This is it, Sara.

Sara: Then leave. Leave tonight and never come back. Doing this is not going to change anything. (her voice is catching already)

Ben: At least we’d be honest.

Sara: You want to be honest? You really think that’s best? Honesty is what got us here.

Ben: So, what’s so bad about here?

Sara: I don’t want to be here.

Silence. Ben turns away.

Sara: Ben, do you think this is healthy? Us torturing ourselves? Have we come any further?

Ben: I just – I want to know the truth. You know, the final decision.

Sara: Life is never final, Ben. Only when we die.

Ben: Just tell me, please.

Sara: Fine, Ben. You really want to know the truth? I love you. More than you could possibly imagine. Probably more than I can imagine. Ok? I love you and for all intensive purposes we should be together. But, Ben, you’re not the only one I love. And James isn’t going away. I thought when I admitted to you how I felt, my feelings for James would go away- but they didn’t. They intensified. They built towers, rallied troops. My love for him is not backing down. Ben, I can love you forever but I cannot give you my heart.

Ben: You can do whatever you want. You aren’t trapped.

Sara: Fine then, Ben. I won’t. I won’t give you my heart. And right now, I do feel trapped. I cannot stop loving you and I cannot be without him.

Ben: He doesn’t respect you.

Sara: I don’t delude myself into thinking he does.

Ben: He should respect you.

Sara: Yes, and he’s working on that. But that’s not a deal-breaker for me.

Ben: Then what is? You left me for nothing. I cooked you dinners, sang you songs, held you, respected you. Where did that get me?

Sara: It got you here.

Ben: Well, I don’t want to be here.

Sara: I guess that makes two of us.
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4634 I dreamt there was a baby in my belly. Growing bigger and bigger. Me, rubbing it in circles. Around and round. Nursing, encouraging, bringing her to the surface.

Then I gave birth to her, she bubbled to the waterline like old familiar feelings coming to light. Journeying to awareness.

After she was realized and launched into the world I abandoned her. Everyday I would find myself in a café/library/nightclub and the memory of her in her crib would jolt me into reality. I would rush home to see if she was still alive and not starved to death.

The panic was overwhelming and the guilt staggering as each time I would find her gurgling and smiling up at me from under baby blanket. Snug in her little sleeper. Waiting patiently.

What was wrong with me?

I had an idea for a song and it grew in my 5 speed heart. Bigger and brighter. I would roll it through my mind’s processes. Over and over. Mulling, chewing, tasting. Realizing it’s potential.

Then I let it pass out over my vocal chords and out my mouth. Sweet and clear like an old familiar feeling. Expression.

After that I played on the computer, painted walls, counted money and checked coats. Everyday I would wake up sweating. Have I forgotten something?

I am running through the halls of my mind searching, terrified, for my muse. My art. My song. My guitar.

In real life, opportunity-like an infant child, will not survive without it’s mother.

My poor, lonely, orphaned craft is lost and shivering and will surely die if I don’t get off my ass and fucking DO something.
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4615 A new neighbourhood. One that feels like mine but doesn't look like mine.

Familiar?

I think back to bright colours on walls and used furniture. When batik sheets and bamboo blinds were sufficient window treatments.

When men were creatures that followed me and did what I said. Skinny and short and sensitive.

When I didnt' eat meat.

When I played guitar in the bathroom cuz it sounded echo-y.

When I knew who I wanted to be when I grew up.

When I didnt' shave my legs.

When I saved up to order pizza.

When I always sat on the floor and there were candles on the tv set that dripped wax on the screen.

When I had a cat.

Now?

I have faux wood home depot blinds and muted cardamon grey in the living room.

I own a microfibre couch that was brand new when I bought it and I treat every stain that falls on it.

Men are tall and handsome and independant and can fix things. Much less obedient.

I eat meat.

My guitar sits dusty in it's case.

I am not want I wanted to be when I grew up.

I shave my legs, armpits and wax the living christ out of my bikini line.

I am saving up for a table and chairs.

I sit on my microfibre couch and I dont' light my candles (they are too expensive to replace).

My cat is dead.



Maybe life is reminding me. And it's not too late?]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4592 A bike was stolen. My bike. Gone are the windswept days leaning into the corners of the sea to sky. At least for now.

This bike, not just any bike, named after my Gran R.I.P
and fast as a snake’s tongue.

I darted. I zipped. I wiped out. I got back up. I claimed it from insurance.

A friend was stolen. My friend. Gone are the windswept days he leaned into the corners of the sea to sky. At least forever.

This friend, not just any friend, named Bogdan gift from god as fast as a snake’s tongue.

He darted. He zipped. He wiped out.

He was claimed from us.

]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4494 What is worship but aspiring to a lofty goal? What is failure but a stumble on the path the greatness? What is disappointment but a reminder to try harder?

I bow to my better self and ask forgiveness for my faults. I offer up my sadness to be reconciled with a bouyency to return and conquer.

I add up my efforts and subtract my failures. I divide that by days spent and multiply by the number of attempts.

And finally then, will I be your equal?
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4388 Her name is Lauren and she has the bluest eyes I have ever seen. Even bluer that my mum’s. She isn’t sure what song she is going to sing. Maybe Alannah Myles’ “Black Velvet” or Christina Aguliera’s “Beautiful”. She is 16. She smokes her Du Maurier kings and quizzes me on my knowledge of “Friends”. I am surprised to find we know the same amount.

Around 2am she curls up to sleep on our pile of magazines and chocolate bar wrappers. That’s when I see my sister in her face. I am taken back 10 years. That same pouty lip and soft cheek. Her eye makeup dark and a little smeared.

She takes up all the space in our tiny area allotted to us. I don’t mind. I feel very maternal as I make sure her sleeping bag is tight under her chin. I stay up all night and watch over her and Nikki. There mum’s aren’t here and I feel as though I should be their guardian at least for one night.

In the morning, after we finish our egg mcmuffins and (my coffee) (her cigarette) she asks me if I would do some yoga with her. We leave Nikki to her copy of YM and find a spot near the water. We breathe for a bit and stretch. We begin our sun salutations.

Arms the sky (we offer up our voices)

Hands pressed together, bowing (we are humbled by our quest)

Pulling back into downward dog (we separate our desires from our abilites)

Rolling up (we hold our heads high)



Arms to the sky.

We offer up our voices.
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4336 Holidays are for:

Listening to albums all the way through.
Languishing in the 20 degree sun on your deck.
Drinking that heiniken that has been sitting in your fridge since xmas.
Buying more heiniken and drinking that too.
Going to the local pub and sitting on the patio with an old friend. And drinking.
Drinking.
Feeling lonely when everyone in the free world is playing with their boyfriends and yours is too busy for you.Sighing.
Napping.
Watching your hockey team win.
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4319 What does it take to find your way?

I am spending hours chasing a number around the daily cashout report. Nothing is balancing. I am feeling tired and frustrated, watching the clock climb closer to 5pm. No lunch, coffee cold. I am not figuring out the numbers…

I am chasing myself also. Something is out of balance. Not quite adding up. I can’t find it for the life of me and it will be the life of me. Maybe if I move myself or subtract someone, I will reconcile. Perhaps I forgot to count some contribution.

I am in tears. I am banging my fist on the desk. I call upstairs and surrender. My boss comes down and counts. She too gets the same number. She tells me to fuck it. I feel in love with her at that moment. How easy was that? Fuck it.

Yeah, fuck it.
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4116 How do you gauge a man?

I have lost my barometer. I can feel pressure but I am clueless how much of it is sitting on my shoulders. Pressing against my neck, popping my ears.

He is setting me free and I am the baby bird too afraid to leave. It’s not fair. Why can’t I just stay here and make him love me? Make him be the man I need?

He smiles and speaks his acidic truth. Burning holes in my heart. Like worn socks with the toes sticking through, my love is poking out, exposed and frost-bitten.

He means well. He means so well. But he’s finished. He’s gone as far as he can go.

This bird will fly alone forever. I want no one but him. Everyone else will seem hollow and thin. He has heart and pain and virtue to fill him up and I just want to love it all out of him.

How can you make someone so happy who can then in turn make you so unsatisfied and alone?

I am so empty now. I am running on fumes and he won’t take the wheel. And the stereo is stuck on Red House Painters “Have You Forgotten”.

This entry is my heart on my sleeve. Pinned to my cuff, piece by piece. Maybe someone can make sense of it. Because I’m too tired.
]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4109 Where I Have Been

I have been to the mountaintop. And I saw the lay of the land.

In a scotch-filled dream I was handed the combination to a safe I longed to crack. Within moments I was too terrified to open it.

Inside are answers, feelings, realizations to dreams. Perfectly balanced and stacked in recognizable piles. Labeled. Ready.

I cannot read them. I cannot, will not open this file.

Why can’t the figures add up to the number in my head? I want it all to fit. Why can’t I hit my emotions against the amount in my heart and make it even out?

In a racing, motorcycle dream I am rounding a corner, leaning, my knee scraping the pavement. Heart pounding, eyes shut. Don’t brake. Don’t brake. Don’t even gear down.

At the finish line he is waving. I smell my chain smoking, the rubber on my tires melting. Someone is standing beside him and I can’t make out who it is.

Next; the finish line?

]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=4081
A headline on the cover of a women’s magazine. This woman lost 109 pounds. This businessman left his corporate life and now emails digital pictures of butterflies to his daughter from his Costa Rican tree house. The stories of renewal are relentless and daunting.

It is clear why we are celebrating these people. She was a glutton and now she does pilates. He was a money obsessed workaholic and now he writes in a journal. But what of that? Shouldn’t these things be a given? She was a drug addicted single mother of 4 and now she’s going to community college so she can take good care of her kids. He was in jail for countless crimes but now he’s stopped knocking down old ladies.

What about the people that have the strength and courage to NEVER DO THAT SHIT IN THE FIRST PLACE? The ones who worked damn hard at not giving themselves an eating disorder in high school. At not having a police record. At not being bullies. Who have always valued life over profit. Who have always held the people they love as their first priority.

It begs the question….where’s their parade?

You don’t have to go through hell to get to heaven. You merely need to finish what you start. You don’t have to hit rock bottom to pick yourself up and dust yourself off, you just need to stumble.

And finally, you don’t need to run away to gain a new perspective, you just need to take a step back.

I’m just sayin….

]]> https://www.happyrobot.net/words/Genevieve.asp?id=3956

I asked my current lover about why he left his previous girlfriend once. He replied with an analogy that I have come to ponder this very moment.

“I was such a giving person. I had so much love for her and I didn’t mind giving it all. I had a system. It was almost as if I had a bag and whenever I needed strength, I would reach in and take it. It never ran out because there were so many things I did to replace it. Things for myself. Things I loved so that I could love. She did some things for me that made their way into the bag but mostly I believed that if I relied only on myself to fill it then I would never be let down by someone. I would never find it empty.
Then one day I woke up and found it empty. I could not believe it. When I reached in to feel for any remains, I found a hole. And my lover was holding scissors.”

I can relate because this is how he makes me feel. Although I don’t think he meant to cut it. I don’t think he means to steal every last piece of patience from my breast. To leave me breathless. Heart palpitating.

Well fix it, Dear Henry.

I give him instructions.

With what shall I fix it?

I don’t care. I didn’t break it.

But I’ve got a hole.
]]>