My morning impulse -- okay hold on there, my morning impulse as a single guy (that's better) is to rid myself of stress. Every day it's the same scenario; I wake up to a small heart attack as my brain slowly feeds me my daily schedule. Like a single rush of distress and panic combined (sounds worse than it is). Fortunately my roomate is kind enough not only to make sure I'm awake on time (trouble sleeping goes with trouble waking up) but also to serve my necessary dosage of morning caffeine which in most cases is the first vital step in focusing on the tasks at hand (merci merci). I've often thought of hanging up a list of urgencies on the wall next to my bed just so that I could take a quick glance at it... it would be one quick flash instead of waiting on my brain to flip through the work cue and send me the necessary deadlines. I might just get around to it. Count that as one of the many advantages of sleeping with a life partner; "fuck work, turn around and hold your lover". While in the opposite camp, my art/work/disciplines substitute love -- hardly fills the void. That's a non-issue, but I can still compare. So anyway, that's the daily mise-en-scène and it was getting worse as of late (and it has yet to be fully resolved), which led to an awful start for the (usually) annual July repose (pour ne pas dire semi-vacances). There were lots of ups and downs during the week(s), I just didn't know how to manage it (see below as optimism fails, multiple personality disorder, pretending not to over-analyse -- whatever). A new friend came into our lives last year and left a solid mark on many of us in record time. She decided to come to Montreal for a change of scenery, it was so-to-speak an ideal period where nothing was holding her back in her country. A year passed and then she went back home last week after contemplating many dilemmas, as she carefully explained to me; it was a fork in the road where either she went back home fully recharged or, at this stage of her newfound Montreal life, she had to invest and fully weigh anchor. And so she decided to head back home hoping that she'll get to reenact the experience elsewhere in the world. I figured it was no coincidence that, at her going-away party, I was subjected to a handful of my past-life reminders (either in person or touched upon in discussions) in what is supposed to be Montreal; a city big enough to evade such things and apparently isn't. Far from it. The few areas that I felt were neutral (where I could also remain somewhat anonymous) are gradually slipping away. Now listen, I won't "refrain" from going anywhere in the city -- I've owned it for a long time now but you must admit that you do feel safer when you're under the impression that you might not get to "see" things you don't want to see (or be seen when you do not want to be seen). Psychological report = I don't feel like I've got the upper hand. It's not crucial, but it's there somewhere in the back of my mind. I can admit that. I can admit that every outting is some kind of effort, but I do try (and I mostly succeed). So aside from any other personal anecdotes, my friend left and gave me some important advice. It echoes in my head since her departure. I felt a kindred spirit in her and she'll be missed. That night was another one of those moments that took its toll on me in the past weeks, I've always said that I was open to new ideas and (solicited) advice/opinions, though that doesn't mean it'll be adopted (general misconception) but understanding goes a long way. A departure from Montreal, in my case, might not have anything to do with "escaping" anything after all; I've seen this happen before, for the little time I've spent out-of-country; I gained increasing notorioty. Montreal will love you only if it wants you (and can't have you). You can feel it at night mostly; it's a dead city pretending to be alive -- too many ghosts. Hence why all nightlife magazines make the "scene" look way livelier than it actually is, most of the time, and people look at this and go "where is this shit happening?". Yeah clubs can be insane but you walk out and -- bam, it's "just" St-Laurent -- or "just" Crescent... to me that really kills the illusion. All in all, I'm merely posting observations, no concrete life-altering decisions taken at this time... more on that when I rant endlessly about an upcoming eviction notice. Just you wait. And as if "on cue", here comes Thom Yorke's brilliant album The Eraser which deals in some parts with the inability to move on. What perfect timing...