and I keep on finding myself working on something

and hitting "I'm not supposed to work on this by myself"

I don't care how unrealistic it sounds

the garden is here waiting, and you are on sabbatical, which was a good choice

“The more you consume negativity or pessimism, the more it consumes you. Stay away from blood and cries. Don’t cut open humans.” So they say.

They ask me whether I like it. Do I like it when I pick up the knife? I don’t know. Why do I do it? I don’t know. Why did I start? Maybe I had a reason. Should I drop it? No. I can’t.

You see a family mourning the dead, and you are moved. You see a dead man, and you are moved. You see a man with his belly cut open, and you are disturbed.

I see families cry, some for their sons, some for their daughters, some for their wives, some for their husbands. I see it every day. They keep crying and crying, tears rolling down their cheeks.

But what can I do?

Because... I am a doctor.

I walked so much that it angered the gods of ingrown toe nails.

I am in OTTAWA, bitch. Gentleman. M’lady. Weird creatures and other anomalies. There’s so much colour here I am in love. It hurts. It makes me feel alright, and I want to stay here, I think. Time is moving fast and I haven’t really had time to sit and think for a few days now.

Ottawa centre is going to be a challenge to find rent for, but I’ve gotten a few offers for Vanier and it seems like it’s close enough to feel the same. There’s a lot of French speakers here and my brain has kind of stopped translating, we operate in assumptions and head nods and hope it works.

I have to wonder wtf am I doing. I am not entirely sure. I’m going to wander the jail hostel while I’m bored, I guess. There’s several days of updates I’ve missed but I’m not filling the rest in right now, kind of because it’s funnier not too and kind of because I’m FREE TO MOVE and not stuck in my little shitty fuckin’ room all day.

It’s beautiful here, I hate it but in a novel and pretty way. It smells nice until it gets humid, and the people are mostly friendly. The French language turns me on and immensely annoys me.

This is where we are

You’re looking for something. In the moment, you really need it. You need it badly. You can’t move forward without it. You search high and low but you can never seem to find it. It ruins all your plans and you have to either start from scratch with something new or find something that can replace it.

You’re distraught for a while. You scratch your head in the corner of where you swore you last saw it, and it’s not there. Not even close. And this thing loves to go missing. It’s like an Olympic sport the way this thing loves to just disappear on you. So you do what you do best when life gives you lemons and you make fucking moist ass fluffy ass lemon pound cake. The kind with the fucking drizzle and shit. Your pound cake is fucking delicious.

What were you looking for again? Months go by and you don’t even need it anymore. You’re not looking for it, you’re not even worried about it. When someone brings it up you’re just like “oh yeah funny story, totally fucking lost that thing. No clue where it is now but I sure hope it’s still intact! Maybe someone stole it, or maybe in my hurried state to make this delicious ass pound cake I totally misplaced it, who knows??” You look around from time to time out of sheer curiosity just where exactly it landed. You think you see it out of the corner of your eye every now and then, but you have more or less made peace with the loss of the thing.

Sometimes you get “lucky” and all of a sudden, there it is! But you’re just kinda like “oh there’s that thing I was looking for… oh well. I don’t really need it anymore.”

And then you keep moving forward.

Happened to me today.

Found my sandals.

Cherry-apple conversion, pit splitting into new seed — cyanide filled, don’t look inside. Given time to mature sprout weakest seedlings, some crushed. Huddling over one or two, knees and elbows on the dirt, then in the dirt, rotting flesh fertilizer new technology with better efficiency, best efficacy. The weakest seedling sprouts through me, shades out the cherry trees given time to mature. My-body-shaped root formation replacement at its base, cyanide watered down, consumed by microbial societies, recycled, purity replenished. I taste lovely, tart, sweet.