The holidays are over. I suspect that I’ve eaten more chocolate over the last two weeks than ever in my life.

The two New Year’s parties were great, although I missed seeing Rob at Aaron’s. I did get a New Year’s kiss though, something I normally feel awkward about when the couples are all partaking and I hide behind my camera.

The holes in my ceilings have yet to be fixed, and it makes me cringe every time I walk into my bedroom or bathroom, so I spent all my time in the living room. Every day, I’d wake up, eat, play games, watch movies, then fall back asleep there.

On occasion, I’d visit friends or see a movie, if only for the sake of getting out. Some nights, I’d open the blinds and let the burning sky pour in, just so I could know that there was something out there outside of my little microcosm.

I’m glad to be back to life. I was feeling so lackadaisical and disconnected, drifting aimlessly without any reason or purpose. In a strange way, I feel recharged, if only because I had two weeks without a regular schedule.

I’m going home today. It’s been a great trip. Just one more stop for lunch with an old boss before I make the drive back to Ottawa.

I miss sleeping in my own bed. It’s been a different bed almost every night. But the trip was also filled with good people. People who are truly touching. And cats.

I’m not feeling as overstimulated as I expected. Maybe I’ve been too busy for it to sink in.

I’ll be leaving in the early afternoon to catch the sunset in the 250km stretch along the 401.

I’m driving out to Toronto tomorrow. Instead of a long vacation, I’ve decided to do long weekends until Christmas.

I’m praying for a safe drive, as it’ll be my first winter with the Civic, and the fact that it already snowed in Toronto today. I’ve always pictured myself in my car, warm inside, protected from the cold outside. I like that idea.

As per usual, I’ll be packing all my camera and video gear.

I’ve been so busy getting ready for this trip — organizing plans with people, getting my pictures printed and framed, packing, doing extra work for my first boss — that I’m already feeling somewhat overwhelmed. It’s going to be four days packed with people, so I know I’ll be feeling overstimulated by the end.

Normally, I don’t like to have things this tight, but there are so many people I want to see. If I could, I’d fit in Andrew and Alex, maybe even explore on my own.

I’m still pretty excited though.

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I’m in Toronto right now, at John’s house. He has the cottage for his birthday weekend, so I took two extra days off work to see him. It’s kind of strange how much I’ve been seeing him lately. In the past, we’d go over a year without seeing each other because he was in Windsor for law school and I was in Ottawa without a car. But now that he’s been called to the bar and I’ve obtained the Civic, things have worked out.

We plan on going to the Ontario Science Centre today — something I’ve wanted to do for a while¹ — then driving up to the cottage tonight. We’ll spend two days at the cottage², maybe take a day trip to another town, and drive back on Sunday. Aaron also called me yesterday about his co-ed baby shower on Sunday, which i’m not sure if I’ll be attending yet, since I’ll have driven eight hours that day.

Sunsets and Audiobooks

The drive was absolutely amazing. The weather was perfectly cool, and the sun took its glorious time setting over a few hours. I think the most satisfying part is getting to the section of highway where the 417 splits to the 416, and one can stay in the left lane and accelerate through the turn, leaving all the traffic behind.

I listened to some audio CDs of Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking on the way over. The concept is that our first reactions (made within a few seconds) are often intuitively correct, and that even after thinking about something for a long time, we end up going with our gut feelings anyway. We’re made to believe that the more important something is, the longer we should take to make a decision. I’m especially guilty of this³. Wally lent them to me in an effort to help me act faster so I don’t miss any opportunities. Not sure if they’ll help me, but the way it delves into processes of the human psyche is a very interesting listen nonetheless.

Feeding Butterball

Left Dolly lots of food, and I’m hoping she doesn’t eat it all. The reason why I feed her by hand is because she doesn’t have any sense of how much to eat, and balloons up if not controlled. In either case, I expect a lot of poo in the litterbox when I get back.

New Game

I bought John a copy of Assassin’s Creed for his birthday, which thankfully was on his list of games for which to watch. It was developed by Ubisoft Montreal, the same studio who made Prince of Persia, and plays very much the same way. An open-world concept with lots of stealth elements. Certainly a game I could get into. We take turns playing, and it’s made me realize that I haven’t been playing much myself in the last few months.

A Sense of Overstimulation

Life has been somewhat overstimulating lately, and I can’t blame anyone but myself. After spending a day shopping for housewares with Julie last weekend, the house is a big mess, with things scattered over the counters and floors. I haven’t even had a chance to write about the last time I came to Toronto. It seems like life is going faster than I can keep up. I’m just trying to enjoy it, especially when the weather is this beautiful.

After all, life is for the living. This won’t last forever. I get to look forward to some time alone when everything is settled.

1. I don’t think I’ve been since grade 4, so over 18 years ago. [↑]
2. Last time I was there was two years ago [↑]
3. John says that I tend to over analyze things to the point of paralysis. [↑]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

300 km, Windsor to Kincardine, from the border of Detroit to the doorstep of the cottage. Due to the break-up, John was too jittery to drive. I took the wheel until he could compose himself.

This weekend was especially important for John; it was his birthday and an overwhelming number of families wanted to visit in celebration, including his father. Being the maternal cottage, Dr. Lea hasn’t been up since his wife died, and this was more important to John than anything else.

By May, the weekends are already booked past August at the cottage. It’s filled with rooms, beds, cots, couches that can accommodate more than a dozen people. Families come and go, and only Gramma Currie remains constant. For most of the year she lives in an apartment in town, but when it’s warm enough to live by the fire, the cottage is opened for lodging.

This time there was Ross, the cousin who’s since finished paying off his tattoo. There was Ray, husband of Fran, father of Heather, uncle of John, who eats his hard-boiled eggs by regimented routine: dash of salt, dash of pepper, scoop of margarine, scoop of yolk in sequence. There were all the associated families, about five in total, and even a few kids running around, making four generations of the Currie family.

I couldn’t even remember the last time I was here, but my last entry in the visitors log shows that it was three years ago.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The best cottages are off the beach, and the beginning of fall is the best time of year to appreciate such things. Even though the wind coming off the water keeps the area relatively cool, the summer heat can still overwhelm such delights.

There’s nowhere else like this.

My house was 650 km away, nine more hours on the road by car, bus, and taxi. On Sunday night, it was good to be home.

A short detour, 80 km, Toronto to Hamilton.

We met up with Sandra for dinner. Prior to this, I only knew Sandra as John’s “best friend from school”, the one he spends most his time with when he’s not with his girlfriend. On the drive up my curiosity was killing me. Was this Sandra person a threat to my friendship with John? Would she eventually replace me as the one he goes to with his problems, his insecurities, his excitements, and would I lose my best friend in return?

No.

Social graces dictate that you don’t strike up a dinner conversation on which not everyone can opine, but when you get two legal-minded people together, there’s isn’t much non-law-student can do but listen and observe.

They got along well, but there’s a certain level of intimacy missing. They still feel each other out, whereas John and I have conversations with a single look. When we left, I was reassured of my position as best friend, and felt silly about how I could be so insecure about a bond so strong.

300 km, Hamilton to Windsor.

I had never been to Windsor before. It’s always remained a place in my head, never tangible, because it’s always John who visits me. Windsor is where he goes to law school, where he spends the majority of the year, and where he works. This was the first chance I had to submerge myself in his life and lifestyle.

I went to work with him at the community law office. It’s here that he shares an open office with a dozen other students, who defend clients from bad landlords, tenants, parents, children, shoplifters, or any other type of living thing.

Law students are a different breed. They’re people who have initiative, who can be extroverted at the right time. After work, they meet at a pub, sit on the patio, and talk about their cases, about the crown attorneys who have vendettas against them, about moronic clients who speak out of turn and plead guilty to a charge before a bargain can be reached.

I was a fish out of water.

Given a short tour of the University of Windsor, I took a few quick snaps.

The first night we arrived in Windsor, John noticed the window was open, with a note from his girlfriend about caring for the hibiscus just outside. He stuck his head out the window to see. “How fitting”, he said. “The plant has fallen over, and died”.

Minutes before leaving for the next part of our trip, they broke up.

Taxi, bus, car, 500 km from Ottawa to Toronto.

John, coming from a weekend wedding, took a flight from Thunder Bay to pick me up. We spent the first three days at the house of John’s parents. Circumstances like these always put me on edge; with adults around, we tend to behave, and I’m generally obnoxious when I’m with John.

The step-mother rules the house with an iron fist. No noise after ten. No noise before seven. No using the guest towels or soap.

One morning, I was having toast with some marmalade when I realized that the orange, unlabeled spread in the back of the fridge had a rather sharp taste, signifying that it was either offal or expired. John stopped me as I opened the kitchen garbage bin.

“You can’t throw that out”

“Why not?”

“It’s food. Food smells.” John pointed to the dish drying rack. It was filled with milk bags which were used, emptied, washed, and dried before being thrown out.

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

“We’ll throw it in the back yard for the birds”

“What if the birds won’t eat it? A piece of toast covered with marmalade would be harder to explain than food in the garbage.”

Eventually, we put the toast in a Zip-Loc bag and disposed of it in a public trash bin four blocks away from the house.

The beautiful garden in the back presented some great photo opportunities.

Toronto was our chance to relax. We just hung around and rented movies. When I’m with John I get to see the classics that I’ve missed — every time it’s mentioned that I haven’t seen a certain title in the store, it’s always met with his button-pushing, “You haven’t seen that?!”. He already has of course, but his memory is so bad that it’s like he never watched them in the first place. This time it was The Shawshank Redemption (very satisfying), Diner (a great coming-of-age film for guys), Four Weddings and a Funeral (ruined by Andie MacDowell’s delivery of “Is it raining — I hadn’t noticed”), and Sideways (fucking amazing). We also saw Out On Bail, which garned many an excruciating reaction.

I still laugh my ass off every time I watch this.

They call it the red-eye for a reason, and although I’m expecting to sleep through most of the ride, I’m not prepared to wake up every half hour. The bus was supposed to be half-full, being 12:30 on a Friday morning, but when I arrive at the station, the line stretches across the hallway, dashing my hopes of a window seat. The guy beside me watches movies on his laptop, while the old man across the aisle works on an assortment of papers with the only light in the bus on. He sits alone, away from the window, a big fuck you to anyone who may want a seat. It’s his light that keeps me up.

The greyhound is supposed to stand for speed, named after the fastest breed of dog used in dog racing, but for me it stands for freedom. The cost is a stranger sitting next to you, a couple hours of leg cramps, and a little over a hundred dollars.

The layover is an hour and a half. As I sit in the terminal, I think of how close my parents are. I haven’t seen them since Christmas, and even though they’re an 45 minute drive away, I won’t be seeing them this time around.

This bus brings me to her.

Here I am, in a cabin in the middle of the woods, 160 km away for two short days and a night in Tremblent. Today, we drove the winding roads lined with pine trees and settled in. By tomorrow morning, the 10 beds and mattresses are going to be filled with 16 people, all-round exhausted, cramming in as much sleep as they can before the hills open.

In between, Aaron finds a Bubbles action figure that looks just like Karen. Phil is dealt a royal flush, which we’ll probably never see again in our lives, during the second game of poker. For this, we drink, and I’m asked to make a print of the photo for everyone present to sign.

I’m not here to ski, or snowboard, or party, I’m just here to observe. Nick gave me the use of his lenses, including a 200mm prime L, but it was the 15mm fish-eye Sigma that I grew to love. How strange it is to be recording my memories with someone else’s glass.

This weekend it feels like I’m running. I’m looking for something, but I don’t know what it is or where to find it.

Leaving by bus, in the rain and in the dark, is something special.

The perfect album to put on is Ágætis Byrjun by Sigur Rós, with songs like Starálfur and Olsen Olsen, but especially Sven-G-Englar and Ný Batteri. Sounds are distracting all around with the people talking, the battering of raindrops on the windshield, the thud-thump of the uneven highway road, but they gradually fade to a lethargic pulse. The unrecognizable timbres of each distinguishable instrument take over.

This is the moment. The exact purpose of the song. The notes are pure, amorphous colours in the darkness, a dulcet damper for the outside world.

Soon the rhythm of the passing city lights will become more and more sparse, and all that will be left in the windows are the reflections of those with their overhead lights on, reading books or keeping eye-contact.

It’s been ten months since the last time you did this.

How has so much happened since then?

It was five days of relaxation, with someone I could spill my guts to. The only person who knows everything about me, every embarrassing experience I’ve had, every dark secret in the back of my mind. I could try, but I doubt that I would ever be able to explain my relationship with John. Let the indescribable remain so.

Most of the time was spent in conversation. In the car we would cruise. On the couches we laid ourselves out, both as shrink and patient. We revisited my old stomping grounds, the university campus with its dull, right-angle architecture. There was a bit of serendipity during his stay, the kind of happenstance that makes one question their sense of faith, fate, or lack thereof. After a series of random and correct turns, it was a sudden, rather terrifying, confrontation of months of meditation on the second introduction. Something I’ve been discussing with John ever since I started writing about it, something I wasn’t ready for at all, and something we happened to catch on camera.

…A week I’ve taken off as part of my available vacation days. There’s something satisfying about being paid to have fun. We haven’t seen each other in over half a year, so the five days will be calculated and precise, squeezing in the things that we’ve been meaning to do together in every available second.

On his way over, John was also able to pick up a small care package from my parents, complete with new dress shirts, loose leaf tea, homemade banana bread, ginseng (LOTS of ginseng that I can now add to chicken soup), and an assortment of books that I’ve been meaning to bring.

Jeff and Darren are over for the next three days. They came five hours from Toronto to hang out with me, before they begin work for the summer. This makes me feel special.

I’ve taken the rest of the week off. I expect to be conscious for a few hours between now and Sunday. Thank god for paid vacation days.

Three more hours and it’d be an all-nighter.

It’s getting dark here, but the light hasn’t completely left the day yet. The sky waxes grey with the setting of the sun, and a gentle rain is making the pavement shine with the yellow glow of the street lamps. The smell consumes me, and I’m back walking the streets on an unrecollected gloomy day.

I finally finished off my honours project, so I can rest a bit easier now. The one report is worth two courses itself. It ended up being around 22 pages, which isn’t too bad. The only thing that remains is my geo essay, and I only have about a half page left to write. I went to lunch with Aaron and Wheaties to celebrate a completed course at the Elephant and Castle. A great waitress served us, and offered a variation on the Strongbow I was having, which was the addition of some lime cordial, or some black currant juice. We all got to try both with the Strongbow, and it was decided that the lime was the better of the two. The remaining black currant juice went into the beer, and Aaron told me that it was tasty.

200 more wins to an archmage icon.

I’ve been listening to the latest AFI album lately, and even though I didn’t much care for it at first, I’m completely addicted now. There’s something about the harmonies in the vocals that make their sound so unique. I’m not quite used to Davey Havok’s voice though, as he sounds like a child to me. Quite unconventional Currently, my favorite song is This Celluloid Dream.

A trip to the Dominican Republic may be working out for the first weekend of May. Since it’s the beginning of the off-season, the cost of the entire trip, drinks and meals included along with residence at a four-star hotel, will be around $900 for a week. Apparently this includes scuba diving, horseback riding, jet skiing, and a beach-side view. Currently, only Aaron, Cristina and I are completely committed to going, but we need an even number of people so we’re trying to find one more person.

Artfag is currently a redhead. Ummmm…yah.

Jonathan tells me that the full-time job seems promising, but he’s not making any guarantees. It would mainly consist of going around the city to various commercial customers and troubleshooting computer problems. The pay will start at around $15 which is not too bad, but not great for a graduate. He says that I’ll also need a car to be able to get to the locations that need service, something that I’ll consider more if I’m actually able to get the job. He tells me that it’s a good foot-in-the-door for web programming positions in the future. I am very grateful, and I’m not getting hopes up.