I’ve just encountered something unpleasant in the bathroom that I hadn’t seen in a long time. It wasn’t the reflection of the giant zit on my neck in the mirror as that will be gone in a few days. (The zit, not the mirror.)
I went ahead and lasered off my whole face so that I can draw it back on.
In my former home province of Québec, Montréal residents are pushing couches and fridges up those twisty death trap staircases. In the 4 years I lived in Montréal, I never had to move on what Québécois call Moving Day. There, if you decide on a moving date other than July 1st, you’re responsible for finding a new tenant to take over whatever remains of your lease.
It’s weird, I know.
I texted Dad yesterday, wishing him a Happy Dad’s Day. He responded by telling me how he spent his weekend.
I told him I was spending mine at home sick. To keep things light, I also mentioned that I was able to entertain myself a bit by playing video games with Yann.
“Sounds like you’re feeling better, that’s back to work for you!”
While writing my last post, I skimmed through my Flickr archives, which contains about 10,000 photos. Many have been set as private, not because they’re scandalous, but because a good chunk of them are completely mundane photos that nobody wants to see. I shared some of the more amusing ones with Yann, who remarked that it was strange how I had a vast collection of snapshots of ordinary things such as a cuppa matcha latte, a box of latex gloves, store-bought apple pie, and an out-of-focus photo of a former co-worker eating charred vegetables.
I’m a pioneer of over-sharing on the internet. This behaviour is now openly embraced through apps like Snapchat or Instagram. I was doing something socially acceptable 10 years earlier than most!
Allow me to take you guys on a mundane stroll down memory lane:
Yesterday, I decided to roam my original neighbourhood of North Park for a rush of nostalgia. Here, I occupied the same building for the entirety of the four or so years I first lived in Victoria (2004-2008). The building was in the early stages of decay: the hardwood floors were so trashed that they’d frequently implant your soles with shards of wood; the rear balcony was missing wooden boards and was on the verge of collapsing; the windows wouldn’t stay open without being propped up by assorted objects (mainly dollar store candle holders).
Do you think my former neighbours had rock art gardens? Oh, no.
The forecast called for a full week of sunshine. It was also the first week I was scheduled to work five days which meant no all-day bike rides or campfires.
Last Monday, in the morning, a building in the proximity of my workplace was set ablaze. I wasn’t scheduled to work, but Yann was. I was able to pinpoint his location as the smoke that was billowing from downtown was visible from our apartment.