it rained everyday that we camped. a little some days, a shitload others. everything i own is soaking wet, reeking of campfire and has been traipsed through mud. my rain jacket exploded on the second day and after duct-taping it back together i ended up wearing phil's while he got drenched. what a gentleman.
over the course of the festival days i noticed either how sheep-like the population is or how much of an aggressive city girl i am. beer line? queue to get to the stage? fuck that. i'll just walk right up to the front and muscle through. no one said anything. not a single person questioned me or got mad. it was almost infuriating to watch hundreds of people wait in a line that i had walked in and out of twice. i know they had all been drunk, high and soaking wet for three days but how can you be that catatonic? is it me? am i high-stress?
after four days of sharing and dancing and laughing and drinking and smiling through the bullshit... i'm a little intimidated to be back home. i was nervous crossing the streetcar tracks last night and my motorskills leave something to be desired. i keep dropping small objects and it's increasingly harder to type the words that my brain is thinking up. my body wants to move at a slower pace. it wants to start the day with weed and lay in the sun till it hurts. i want to live without a cell phone and cook everything i eat on a fire. i want to leave my belongings in a tent and know they'll be there when i get back. i'll swim instead of shower and drink beer with every meal! i'll talk to strangers about their organic soap and shit in porta-pottys! i don't care. no make-up, no hair straightener, no rules!
but... alas, i'm back to normal life now. work, gym, photos, chinatown, groceries, laundry, houseclean, go, go, go!
if nothing else, hillside let me breathe and it's important to remember to do that sometimes.
i had a weird memory tonight. i didn't go to yoga this week because i needed to pack and prepare (read: wax) for a camping trip this weekend. i'm going to some weird hippie festival. i'm gonna do tai chi in a tent and learn about urban farming. i haven't been camping since high school and i think i forget how it works. so i'm mentally preparing a list of things i'll need to bring, stoned, staring at the coffee table and all i can see is the television remote.
when my little brother and i were, oh... i don't know, under ten, i bet him that i could concentrate on thinking about the remote control longer. we were in a real competitive phase (one that always ended bloody and tearful) and while this particular contest didn't make any sense it was the one that stuck.
it sounds ridiculous, i know, but i couldn't stop laughing thinking about it and if i texted jake right now, 15 or so years later, and asked what he was thinking about, i know what his response would be.
it seems impossible. it seems like a long dream. i'm trying to think of things to write to help give myself some sort of closure. some sort of peace.
i paused for awhile and a slideshow of photos began transforming my screen. i kept expecting a picture of him to scroll by. i'm trying to make this moment more than it is.
so i'll type and take pictures of clouds because they've never looked as devastating as they did on the day you were buried.
i threw my neck out last week. i'm not sure if it was at yoga, or if i simply slept weird. the pain stayed in the 'not too much discomfort' category all weekend. hell, i was able to speed away from a car trying to run us of the road, literally. i fully explored two prettyimpressiveartshows (andwasohsoinspired), ate a new food and screamed for gross-eared dudes on the tv to "fucking fight like men!" but, i guess watching all that buffy last night really took it out of me because today when i got up, well, i couldn't. the sprain spread straight down my back and left arm. i'm fucking half paralyzed and can only think of one thing to do about it.take some percocets and watch 'true romance'.
i'll leave you to explore my first panarama of one of my favourite bars: ronnie's in kensington market.
two things have been constant the last sixteen days.
people have complained about garbage and i've listened to sean walsh and the national reserve. obsessively.
alright, so, let's talk about this garbage strike. it's been over two weeks so far and my life hasn't really changed. i try to block out the whining around me but, seriously, it's in every paper, every blog and every newscast. i could care less how many sick days you have. i'm not at all concerned about your wages and benefits. i only feel sad for you because you have the worst jobs imaginable.
think about this. every time a customer asks a stupid question and you get pissed off: you could be hucking bags of diapers into a piles of hot trash for eight hours. the next time your boss micro-manages your life: you could be babysitting some bullshit toddler who bites you while his parents spend welfare money on weed. the welfare money that YOU paid into! those bastards!
honestly though, stop talking to me about it. my life is so unaffected by things like this. i live in chinatown (there's always garbage here) my taxes could barely pay a lifeguard (and i usually end up getting it all back), my roommate and our two cats haven't even come close to amassing enough garbage for it to be a problem for us and i mostly rely on myself to get things done... well, me and that chinese lady that takes our empties every week.
i've started to realize (often when meeting new people) how often i swear. now, i'm not a repetitive curser. i'm not boring about it. par example, i would never say, "that fucking fucker took too the fuck long." however, i have been known to utter, "that christing cunt took my goddamn pen and ran the fuck off with it."
i usually try to sensor myself in this little blog to make it... oh, i don't know, safe for all ages? but i'm not quite sure why. either way, i hope people see it as passion and not ignorance.
bad words make all the best sounds. what's a bitch to do?
