Some Bird

My landlord arrived home from Montreal last night for a three week visit. I'm a little disconcerted by the cigarette smoke and how thin the walls appear to be . . . because while he is not often here he's going to let three guys and a girl lease the place for the school year . . . that could get loud. But maybe it will be fine.

Something got into the garbage bin last night. I had noticed some pecks at the bags last week and thought it must've been the big-assed bird that roams around here. But last night was no bird! It may have been a raccoon, or a couple of raccoons, or maybe a raccoon and a cat. It was loud. Terrible frightening screeching. Perhaps a fight. I nearly jumped out of my skin at the first roar because it scared me so bad and my window was open. Jacques slept through it though, didn't hear a thing he said this morning when we spoke. He's reinforcing the bin right now as I write, filling in the gaps to keep the scavengers at bay.

I had a good weekend weather-wise, not too humid, yet sunshiny for the most part. It's shaping up to be a beautiful day today too. On Saturday morning I finally got my ass in gear and hauled it all the way out to the Farmer's Market at the Cafe. It's not a big market, but some good stuff is there. I think I would've had to get there earlier to get the organic produce that I was particularly interested in. All she had left was asparagus, which I'm not crazy about. I was looking more for salad fixings and berries. There were a lot of people around because of the high school graduation I think . . . or else there are just a lot of people around downtown on Saturday morning. I felt like Lorelei Gilmore strolling with my big cup of coffee, stopping in all the little shops, buying a loaf of bread here, a book there, some ground coffee over there. I was laden with bags by the time I returned. Walking up the street close to where I live there was a young man sitting on the roof of his garage sketching in pastels. It made me smile. I live in a place where teenage or early twenty-something boys can climb onto the roof to get the picture . . . and nobody thinks anything of it. None of the good ole boys from up the road are going to tease him or call him nasty names . . . Or at least that seems to be the way it is here.

Once again I stayed in on Sunday and didn't get to the Tantramar market at the Civic Centre, where surely I would've been able to get that produce. I also didn't go to the movies like I thought I might. Didn't go to the video store. Didn't seek out the Catholic church (though I'm intrigued by the Baptistness of this community and wondering if that wouldn't work equally as well, if not better). Didn't go anywhere. Yesterday was a bit hotter than other days and minus the breeze I've come to love and loathe all at the same time. I'm spending my time caught between two extreme moods -- often stopping whatever I'm doing to perform the dance of joy and marvel at my existence in this place, and then being knocked back by panic . . . what if, in a year's time, I still haven't made any new friends, what if, I continue to live here without ever meeting anyone? Is this place and me in it going to be enough? Will I have to move again? And where will I go this time? Mind you the little panic attacks don't last nearly as long as my joyful dance and giggling at my good fortune. Still, I don't want anyone to think that I'm not human, I do have doubt sometime.

I'm excited about getting out and doing things this summer. There seem like a lot of interesting events coming up in July. I need to get out and do things if I hope to make a presence for myself here. I need to join clubs and things. The problem of course is that most clubs have gone on hiatus for summer. By the time fall rolls around, I'll join everything and take on entirely too much and be completely crazy busy I'm sure.

Mood: Surreal . . . is this really my life?
Drinking: Coffee that I ground up myself at Jacob's Larder (the healthy food store) it's organic! It's Italian! It's yummy!
Listening To: Taste of Independence, not sure who's singing, it's old, kinda sounds like the Righteous Brothers . . . anyone know?
Hair: My poor, poor hair . . . it wants a new hairdresser . . . but I've been too lazy to find one . . . (and yes, a little scared)