Montreal is a beautiful city. It is my city. It is a place that I feel at home in. It is the first place I have ever felt at home in. But it is not my home.

Even though it is beautiful, with¬†amazing music & art scenes, full of vibrant personalities. Our love affair will be short, I know you are all thinking 4yrs is fairly long to begin with but it is all perspective. This city with its calm hustle and bustle, it’s movers and its shakers, just isnt for me in the long run.

My neighbourhood here is great. The edge of HoMa is just far enough away from the plateau (but I do miss my house on StHubert & Rachel), and the Downtown that I dont feel smothered. But still close enough that all of my friends are a 15m bike ride away. All of my favourite bars are located next to my favourite parcs or my very best friends. Life is easy.

But I miss the ocean. I miss the feel of moss under my feet, or hearing rushing water all around me at a river. I miss small town corner stores, and gas stations that double as souvenir shops (that you would never buy anything from). I miss truck stop diners, even though I am allergic to everything on their menus. And I miss walking out to the front of the road to get my mail from the community mail box.

So sometime soon I hope to run away. Back to a small town, where I can just be, and not have to constantly analyse the politics of my being.

Show me your filth, show me where you live. Emote for me – let me see your ravenous animal. Ive seen you without clothing, Ive seen you in pain; now let me see you naked, writhing under your own emotions. Respond with your gut, let it twist up in your face.

Stop being in control.
Lose control.
Give up control.
Surrender control.

Giving me what I want isnt as simple as a few words to quell the storm. Get lost at sea with me, drown with me. Fight against the current and be swept into the undertow.

Dig it out of the sticky red mess, bury it in the cold black soil, and unearth it to let me see the decay. Graze me with your broken edges, bleed me with your emotions. Hearticulate with me.

So the project I was supposed to start this weekend obviously didnt get off the ground like I wanted it to, seeing as I was strapped to a bed for 17hours in a hospital. Which is probably for the best because I probably would have done it differently. I had planned on making it somewhat of a communication between myself and an ‘old friend’ however Ive decided against that. I will give it a separate website but I will make it public. The first few pieces will be a bit of an address to that friend but after that I will be looking for new material. So far I have 2 stories finished and 5 others in progress. For now I think that is enough to get started (including the original short I wrote back at Easter).

In the near future I am going to set up a (more) reliably way to contact me. As of this moment I just deleted 2 gmail accounts and one secure email (eir), I want one email as a hub for all of my incoming crap I am tired of signing into half a dozen different accounts every day.

It has been all over canada with me.

I remember getting it when I was 16, my father told me I wouldnt be able to find one under 200$. I found it on sale at the back of a store, standing alone as if it were waiting for me. I spent half of my christmas money on it, and it still didnt break the 200$ mark. As soon as I got it home I started to decorate it. By my final year of high school it had seen so much use that both of my parents suggested I throw it out and get a “more adult” one seeing as I would be using it more in college.

I moved it into my first apartment with my two best friends. All three of us used it. It is a little weird to think of it as something communal, seeing as it is such a personal item – however they are my best friends and I love them in ways that others sometimes cant understand. When I moved into my second apartment I remember my ‘boyfriend’ at the time carrying it through the front door, saying something snide (and sweetly teasing) about he wasnt surprised I owned one, but was I sure I knew how to use it.

When I moved to Ottawa my parents were not impressed when I asked them to hold onto it, and ship it to me once I got settled but they did. And then 7 months later I shipped it back to them when I moved back to Nova Scotia.

When they came to visit me in Montreal they drove up with it, unimpressed again. It seems everytime I move they think it is a reason to get a new one. But for me it is a symbol of stability, a piece of where I have come from and a path to where I am going. I might not use it every day now, but having it around reminds me of my goals. If you asked me what I couldnt live without the answer would be my easel.