feb 29 2020

8:30 am - risky days indeed.

brain and body; they both woke from a dream.
at first i thought it was a bit of cognitive dissonance
but seconds later, i see that it's all about having time to process
process my thoughts;
your actions;
your words;
the situation;
your reaction to the situation;
my reaction to your reaction;
and come to conclusions
rinse and repeat.
rinse repeat.


feb 27 2020

3:54 pm

4:49 pm

i was told to write a story; so in this snowy empty moment, that is what i shall do.

the cbc girls mumble under the white noise of the heater behind me;
the wind tips the tops of the most massive of urban pine trees
the man flies to Denver on sunday
i stare at three screens

so i drove a thousand kilometres last week and part of me wants to forget it but another part knows i will
so i took the advice to document the story of driving a thousand and eighty two kilometres to be told i have an infectious smile
the words they said about me around that table will ring in my ears for another year: i am not afraid to ask difficult questions
and i apparently have a calm demeanor. i definitely had nicer things to say about them than they about me, and being asked to
drive so far to join such a tight-knit group who has negative interest in me is really one of the weirdest things i've ever done.

the hotel was built in the days when expectations for hotels were grand; not bougie;
the large staircase tempted me to sing and dance down it as if i was a character in a Hollywood movie from 1942.
i thought about my father. alot.  i would have come home and told him all the details. the river. the weather.
the maritime lookout structure.
the odd shaped mountains.
the ice fishing huts. the BIC.
the office. the people. the population. the cold. he would have asked about all of this.
i would have told the both of them the story but in truth it would have been my father i was telling.
i know that this gift comes from him but it's only now that he's gone that i understand who was motivating me to tell these stories.
but my father now lives only within me. so i told myself the story.

two days later my daughter was reveling in the spring-like weather we were having.
she was so happy, to connect to nature, to feel alive.
i know exactly the feeling she was trying to convey, because she was telling the same story.
so i told her the story.
it will be hers one day.

feb 26 2020

8:09 am

is there an accountant in the house
is the river wide

feb 25 2020

7:51 am
5:31 pm
is there an accountant in the house
is the river wide
does my father know what he taught me
stop spying on me
i do not belong to you
and no, it's not easy as the iceberg breaks
but your mass is too overbearing
for my independent soul.

feb 23 2020

9:42 am

is nobody human;


does fame destroy us all;


my conclusions here are all very black and white
however more black

as i sit, alone, with my reflection in the bottom of the mug staring back at me
and an obsessive woman upstairs
who needs some loving.

we are all sinners, this is true,
but i hope my silent voice here
only brings hope
and peace

feb 22 2020

8:34 am

if your goals in the group are not the group goals,
i do not want to be in your group.
- me

feb 21 2020

8:23 am

on a sick day i was sick and drove 7 hours

feb 20 2020

9:32 pm - a sick day in rimouski

i'm starting to hate people
not because i hate people
but because they are not remotely nice
brene brown would say it's about vulnerability:
and truth be told, i don't believe they are not nice:
they just assume others are not nice
it's just like the assholes driving:
there are no assholes
we are all them

feb 17 2020

8:11 am

in the deep midy -winter
i sing of the deep mid-winter
and drive to rimouski

imagine a quite house
neither can i
one where i'm not woken several times in the night
neither can i
but ordering earplugs online seems such a weird thing to do

feb 14 2020

7:00 am

do not ask why i am awake for i do not know
do not ask what i will do today for i do not know that either

feb 13 2020

8:08 am

the world has been painted white again; with a tiny brush, this time.
evergreens with such salt-like coatings bring me back to a particular place and time
it would have been lasalle quebec circa 1969 or so. these would be my earliest memories;
staying with a family friend while my mother had a hysterectomy;
and i cannot even write the words to describe what the syrian children are going through
as i write these words

knowing other people's MbTI types is becoming my detriment:
i cannot be myself

extraverted thinking: daughter mentions that she is worried the crepe restaurant will close
introverted intuition: daughter freaks out when it actually closes

feb 12 2020


i need to grab my brain today
and decide for myself where it goes
and if i see it on paper
it helps

the evergreens dance in mild winds
and clumps of marshmallow snow
flee from their warming branches
sunlit from afar, like a velvet paint by number
as the heater hums

there's only one option today
and that's to focus on what is good
even if the world is not
and i know i am

in a world filled with fear
i finally understand what Roosevelt meant.

feb 11 2020

imagine waking
day after day
for your entire life?


imagine february 11
twenty twenty
almost eight am

imagine heat coming
from a box
for pennies
a day

imagine life
imagine death
and everything
in between

imagine heaven
imagine it
and a world below
wishing it were real
lucky heaven


feb 8 2020

a week marked by profound vicarious sadness
for, um, well, for life itself i suppose...
and for a broken household, inside a beautiful house,
and every time i imagine the occupants of it,
i shudder


many things seem meaningless after such an event
yet life goes on - even without such a man
snow falls
money gets deposited
and quesadillas get washed down with a sweet Languedoc.


the week is done
the space bar is crumby
the CBC murmers under the hum of the space heater
and more silent words go through my head.



feb 1 2020

here we are.
the dead of winter but not of time
as the days and months and years cycle round
like minutes