April 13-15, 2001 — But if I hold my breath, I at least see stars

Friday

It's nice to have my own room again when I'm at home. I slept until 3:00PM in the darkness of my small, black room with its large, black blinds. It felt good to be caught up on my sleep again, and even after thirteen hours, I didn't feel groggy. I was less ecstatic when the realities of living in Richmond hit me, but such is life, I guess. And I'm going to have to get used to it sooner or later, what with four months of life in everybody's favourite village of 2 000 ahead.

To be honest, though, Richmond is not without its benefits: On my first trip to my video store of choice, I found that the price of previously-viewed videos had dropped to three for $10, and that my absence had left a considerable backlog of movies that might be considered vaguely non-mainstream for me to buy. So I bought "Dirty," "The Trigger Effect," "Basquiat," "Kissed," and, since I figured I ought to go for an even six movies for $20, "Election" and "SLC Punk" as well. I should've brought "Kissed" back with me to Toronto -- I think watching movies about necrophilia in the common room would go over quite well.

With the joys of a room to myself and cheap videos behind me, Richmond had little else to offer me. I accepted my fate and spent the evening watching movies until Steve called to invite me to Johnston's. Then I watched movies in Manotick. But with Dave, Jess, Matt, Johnston, Steve, Jeremy, and Casey instead of with my mother and father. I guess it could have been worse.

Well, this is certainly a terrible journal entry. I encourage you to save yourself now by not reading any further. Go look at me dressed as a member of Borg collective and pretend you never read this. You'll be a better person for it.

Saturday

Still with me? We'll rejoin our antagonist during his journey to Peterborough after his parents dragged him out of bed early Saturday morning...

Since I've had my fair share of train rides exceeding twelve hours each way in the last couple of years, I'm finding that the three-hour drive to Peterborough goes by in no time at all. I remember when I was a lot younger, those three hours seemed to drag on forever. Now my mind is so good at killing time that three hours seems completely insignificant. The problem, though, is that three hours now always vanishes for me before I really get a sense of it. I think that there's something to be said for three hours seeming like an eternity: Even if car rides drag on until the end of time, those moments that are perfect for remaining in forever don't slip into the vagueness of memory quite so quickly.

I'd started reading "Ham On Rye" by Charles Bukowski on the bus ride to Ottawa, and I finished it in Peterborough. I was surprised that I'd heard so little about him before meeting Jeff.

Like visiting Richmond, visiting the family farm in Peterborough is not without its perks. I spent the afternoon walking down dirt roads and throwing stones at fence posts. I've missed the outdoors.

On the way back from my walk, I found a baby turtle that had been crushed by a truck. The blood was still wet. I bent down to investigate, and I found another baby turtle trying to make its way across the road. I picked it up and carried it to the ditch on the other side. Then I went back to the house and washed my hands.

Sunday

When my parents finally dropped me off at my residence building, I promptly found Johnston's Dashboard Confessional stickers and put one on the skateboard deck that my sister's boyfriend had been nice enough to give to me. It had a large Kunstadt Sports logo on the bottom that wasn't so cool, and seventy-seven square inches of free promotion for Vagrant Records was just what that skateboard needed.

I eventually checked my telephone messages and found one from Gillian saying that she was disappointed that I hadn't called on her birthday, and that I should call the night that I received her message. She'd probably left the message on Friday, so I felt too awkward to call.

I spent the afternoon doing laundry and getting caught up on life. Erika was in Montreal for the weekend, so I couldn't expect to hear from her. We've only a few more days to wait before we see once and for all how we get along in real life. The anticipation is balanced out by the worry. And by the continued knowledge that people are going to get hurt no matter what happens.

I wonder when Jeff will be returning to Toronto with skateboard parts for me... I've got kickflips to learn and wrists to break, dammit.

Until that day?