Somehow, between now and the last time I went home, which was about two months ago, I gained three pounds. Three pounds is HUGE to me. Now I’m 120, a weight goal I was trying to hit by the time I was in my mid-30’s. Instead of eating chocolate eclairs, ice cream, chips and dip, individually wrapped Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, strawberry cheesecake, chocolate bars, and other such munchables, I’m going to try to take advantage of post-session taste enhancement and eat fruits, vegetables, yoghurt, and other healthy foods. There’s just something about salt though, a certain taste that can’t be found in the fruits that I like. Except for bananas. Bananas rule.

I need to pick up some bananas today.

A little while ago, John informed me that he sent me a package and that I should be expecting something to arrive. I wasn’t home when it came, so it was sent to the nearest, “most convenient” mail hub, further south and downtown, which was a little out of the way, really.

A few days later, I decided to make a trip downtown to retrieve this package. There was a post-work session before I headed out, and I was peaking by the time I got to the bus stop. Admittedly, I was a little excited, because gift-giving is completely out of John’s nature. What could he possibly have sent me? I wanted to find out myself so I never asked him the details.

It rained the entire day, but the precipitation stopped by the time I was outside. The sun was still out, and turned the sky a hazy purplish-red, almost as if the entire world had been through an apocalypse, save one Canadian city. The pavement was still wet and buildings were streaking with their dark colours stretching towards the ground. I started seeing geometry, shapes, lines patterns, movement matching up as I passed. Everything turned into puzzle pieces, aligning themselves before me.

And on the way back, I sat on the bus with my package next to me, unopened, anxious to get home.

I once wrote this when I was stoned, lying on my couch, watching passing headlights make geometric patterns on my ceiling by in the dark:

I like to pet her kitten
She scratches in return

Ever listen to The Postal Service…on weed?

I’ve been back for two days, and I’m still busy. I haven’t played a game of WC3 in over a week and a half. I think people would generally be worried about me if I told them this without letting them know that I didn’t have access to a decent computer. I can honestly say that the last two weeks have been the best trip home I’ve ever had.

I’ll never forget driving to the park to blaze with Darren and Chris or Jeff or Jerry. The park was always abandoned at that time of night, surrounded by a field on one side, and a row of middle-class houses on the other. I always suspected that the people eating dinner with their blinds open knew that we were doing something illicit when sparks would light up our faces in the blackness of the field. Standing in the middle of the playground, with its sand-covered tables or dual-sided slide contraptions, made me feel comfortably at peace. The area was devoid of traffic (and hence noise) and there was no light pollution to dilute the glamour of the glittering sky.

Afterwards, getting hungry, we would drive to the McDonalds drive-through (since the regular joint was closed at that time of night), and order an inordinate amount of food. Eating would always consist of parking in a nearby lot, lit from long lamps that seemed to want to touch the sky, and rolling down the Civic’s windows. The wide, open space of the parking lot would rarely see anyone drive through, and we were left eating comfortably in silence (albeit with the hum of the A/C in the background), when food never tasted so good.

We would hit the closest Timmies afterwards, needing coffee and somehow more food. The place was always empty, and from two to four in the morning we were the only customers, getting two large teas and two cheese strudels please. I wondered how much money could have been made by staying open 24 hours a day, paying the two employees working the night shift while seeing us as the only customers, purchasing food but staying well over the courtesy limit. I’ll never forget how brightly lit the place was, with it’s lugubrious employee seemingly mopping the floor for an eternity while Chris and Darren chatted endlessly about the more humourous aspects of their friends facial features. I would look out the window and see cars pass by on the main road every so often, wondering how I’ve missed such a good time my whole life.

Time spent with John was just as good. We watched Elizabeth (Geoffrey Rush and Fanny Ardent had the best parts), The Transporter (terrible), The Good Thief (very good), Jackass Movie (just as good the second time), and Better Luck Tomorrow (very enjoyable). We bought Timesplitters 2 for his PS2 and played quite a bit of co-operative campaign and switched to deathmatch when we felt the need to match testosterone.

He would give me a ride home every night which ended up taking about an hour due to the DVP being closed for construction. We rode along the dark city streets, listening to Air Supply and talked about anything from implanted human desires to how fucked up our relationships have been to our future plans.

I realized that, as good a time as I was having at home, I still wouldn’t move back there. I’m comfortable here, and I’m able to much better appreciate the time I spend with my friends or family if it’s not too often. I have something to look forward to.

Something that is rare.