As the days go on, any joy I feel seems more contrived
, more chemical
Inside, I too am filled with rust
I may have a place of my own, come April
Assuming that I stay in Ottawa
, and don’t run off to Toronto
, or Rio de Janeiro
until then, I may have found a one-bedroom apartment for a decent price, here in Ottawa. Considering that we currently have the lowest vacancy rate
in North America
, that is no simple feat.
On related terms, some web design
group wishes to interview me. They are in Toronto, and they want me to meet them next Monday. I am still undecided
as to if I will show up.
I dream of Toronto, nearly nightly. I dream of my lost roommate
sticks, of laughter
and moody music
does, as well. She doesn’t say so, not quite so clearly, but something in her dies a little bit more, every day that we’re away.
I have a stress fracture
in my left tibia
At times, I don’t notice. At others, it feels like someone’s trying to extract my bone marrow
with a butter spreader
The hospital-proscribed treatment for such an ailment is 6-8 weeks of relative rest
, and little-to-no high-impact activity.
I went to a goa
party in Montreal
, this weekend. Hours in a packed van
with no heat, map mixups, money issues, and relative craziness was the norm for the traveling.
I danced from the moment I could feel my toes
again until they turned the lights on
and told us to get the hell out
It wasn’t enough.
Dancing has become a method of exercising my demons
, I think. It’s cathartic
, it’s release
, it’s bliss
; and unlike other party-related activities, it doesn’t leave the taste of chemicals in my mouth
The day after, I could hardly walk. My leg was meat, useless screaming meat.
Today, my throat has followed suit.