To my American friends, I say this, as a Canadian, I can offer you a little bit of freedom.
To those of you trapped, I can offer my hand in marriage.
There’s nothing that doesn’t say we can’t lie about consummation.
I still want Cascadia to happen.
On a similar note – does anyone know if I can British Citizenship through a grandmother? I loathe this place. It’s too new, there’s no history here, no stones to walk on. Trapped by it’s mountains and the small townies who think they’re in a city now. It’s terrible. If not, does anyone over there want me?
Is there a local Guy Fawks? Effigy burning might be a nice thing to do this week.
I woke this morning in the friendly room. Non-euclidean until I focused-put-on-my my eyes, the master bedroom is nicely lit by sun in spite of being in the basement. I could like it here, comfortable is cluttered with AV gear sure, but not for long. Don’t ask me to live here. November light is somehow more diffuse than October’s. Fill me with something other than this chocolate cookie and passionfruit juice breakfast. Bitter stale chips of political revelation don’t count. I don’t remember feeling so empty over a swan song vote.
Tonight is the house-warming/goodbye.