Have nothing essayic or long-form to say. Only fragments of what might be bigger. Not to allude to any kind of greater project yet to be published. My thoughts are just as short as I feel at the moment.
-Do they have Heal Wellness in the US? Looking at their website, I don't think you guys do. It kind of rocks. It's a place that sells açai bowls - those Brazilian fruit bowl-type things. They have small decals on the walls that read "in my healing era." It's the kind of place that, in a few short cultural hours, the firing squads of postpostmodern good taste will blast into kitsch oblivion, like froyo and global village coffeehouse before it. Now, I'm typing all this on my damp, unclean Samsung Galaxy S21 on the counters facing the windows to 112 St. NW Edmonton. I'm one of the only guys in here. Everyone else is in Lululemon. The spring sun blazes suspiciously after weeks of Albertan false starts to the season. What will become of this?
-My laptop is fucking missing. I really want it back. It is hard to apply for jobs on your phone.
-My friend's brother attempted suicide over the weekend. I was with him when he got the news. We biked over to his apartment where the building manager let us in, only to find empty, messy rooms in low light. Instead of a couch, there were battered Home Depot boxes. Instead of a bathroom, there was a wet cave where no sound had traveled for thousands of years. We found him attempting to climb one of the pillars of the High Level Bridge - or, by 'we,' I mean my friend and EPS. I got lost in the ruins of a homeless encampment shouting his name, expecting to see him dangling from the rafters. All I found a blanket covered in campfire soot and rainwater. When we knew he was in the hospital, we went to McDonald's. I stayed there for a few hours after my friend left to go see our other friends once his adrenaline worth off, anf I only had enough strength left to get really high alone in my bedroom. I should be more bothered by this.
-Stickers on a MacBook, next to a legal pad. There are some notes near the top and a pen diagonally across the top. That's a good pen. It wrote enough. It can have a little rest now. There's a sticker on the back of the MacBook that reads "Jesus Loves Sex Workers." Why? Who is supposed to read this?
-I refer to my move to Montreal as "potential" because I feel like I haven't even begun to work out the logistics. And I don't mean 'logistics' purely in the sense of finding a job or passing the B1 exam. The stakes feel high. I'm nervous. My gut tells me this is one of those things that I should completely jump at because the fear I think I feel isn't fear at all, but a kind of nervous anticipation of something worthwhile. The fear is a signal of the move being a secretly fantastic idea wrapped in the disguise, that despite the risk, in a few short years, this will pay off immensely - both professionally and in terms of self-respect. But, sometimes, I just don't know.
-French has been really fun to learn. It feels like one of the most worthwhile projects I've undertaken ever. It's something I've long wanted to attempt and now I'm sinking some time every night into. However, I'm not nearly as far ahead as I'd like to be. My vocabulary is wider than it used to be, where I could barely say hello and goodbye, but my phonics could use some work. Tonight, I'm going to practice my vowels.
-I'm very tired.
