Like Old Times

Last week I found myself in Winnipeg with my first days off from the lodge since the beginning of May. Coming home it felt like I had never left, which I guess is a good thing. I guess. Nonetheless I couldn't get over an enveloping aura of awkwardness and unease that left me stuttering a lot, even around close friends, and with a general feeling of anxiousness. I spent my few days off surrounded by friends and family and for much of the time I wanted them to go away, not because I didn't want to see them, but because I didn't want them to see me in this backward state.

I spent my last night at home with Wilms and Emac, the two guys I terrorized History and Engligh classes with throughout high school. It will the last time the three of us will be together in the same place for a while, since we're all taking to different corners of the world come September. The evening ended with Eric and I smoking cigarettes on the front steps of the old high school, not really saying much, but enjoying the moment. Like old times.

Eric's been at Carleton for school and I've been at the lodge all summer so we haven't been able to see much of each other as of late. I was blown away when he brought his laptop over and gave me a preview of his CD, by the both quality and amount of work he's into his little project. He's recorded and mixed all his material and plays all his own instruments. Get Out of Town should be out at the end of the month. I might have to wait until I get out to Ottawa later this fall to hear the album in full, but in any case, the evening left me somewhat inspired. Inspired to turn my chosen craft of the written word into something as original and artistic as what Eric's put together for his CD. I've since been running ideas through my head and have come up with very little substanstial, but certain that it will involve a relaunching of this blog this fall when I get home since quite frankly the speed of the internet out here on the island is downright frustrating and the time I have to sit down and create something is extremely limited.

Right before I went home I knew I had caught the island fever. I've only been back for a few days and I feel it creeping back. Before long I'll get the point where I'm drinking twelve cups of black coffee a day and the island starts telling me stories.

My shoes are starting to rot because they're always wet because the water is really high this year and constantly creeping over the dock. My pants smell like diesel and fish guts. My hair is like straw and my fingernails are always black with some kind of dirt. Sometimes I talk to my tools, I tell my chainsaw about my ex-girlfriends. I killed a squirrel with an axe and nailed it to a tree. I hate those goddamned squirrels, always going through the garbage. Yes, I am going bush crazy. And I don't care.