Foggy pause

I’ve been on vaca­tion for almost two weeks. They end with­out me hav­ing had time to under­stand that I am on a break. I didn’t do much. I could even say that I haven’t lived for quite some time, even though I still con­tin­ued to enjoy life phys­i­cal­ly and metaphor­i­cal­ly. What has hap­pened since I no longer have a dish­wash­er ? Well, I’ve done my dish­es. Despite my good inten­tions to save water, I have seri­ous ques­tions about the real sav­ings I’m mak­ing. Wash­ing dai­ly using two to four liters of water or spend­ing twelve liters in a week for a machine wash… It seems to me that this is not what will make the dif­fer­ence for Gre­ta. But hey, every ges­ture counts, they say.

Exact­ly, what were my oth­er actions ? I have read a lot, and I have explored some of the sky charts of friends who sud­den­ly got sick. In any case, the great astro­log­i­cal metaphor knew what to say, what to sug­gest. I am still sur­prised by this syn­chronic­i­ty mutant, even if, some­times, we have to take some and leave some on what the experts write.

I read a few things about mythology…

I also go to the hos­pi­tal every day to accom­pa­ny my co-own­er friend for an hour or two. I bring him some news­pa­pers. More­over, on this point, as it is made dif­fi­cult to bring a jour­nal to some­one. There are no more ! Every­thing is now done over the Inter­net ? I even went to Berri-Uqam sta­tion to what I thought still exist­ed near­by, the Mai­son de la presse inter­na­tionale. Well, no ! Closed ! And at Renaud-Bray on Saint-Denis, which used to have a good selec­tion ? There are only a few Amer­i­can week­end news­pa­pers left. Only Le Devoir and Le Jour­nal de Mon­tréal are resist­ing.

And then what else ? I sleep like a ground­hog, I answer a few emails from employ­ees of my com­pa­ny who don’t seem to notice the vaca­tion notice they receive when they write to me. Peo­ple are not focused these days, it seems… Or is it me who, because I’m motion­less, can con­cen­trate adequately ? 

I cook every day for my great friend, the oth­er friend’s hus­band. I fixed the roof, one step. I bought myself an active gram­mar in Por­tuguese. I have my new choir too. Charm­ing singers. It’s fast, I bet­ter get pre­pared before going there. Real­ly, I do noth­ing, I lis­ten to the silence around me, I read in my lit­tle jar on Laje­unesse Street. They have com­plet­ed the work on the street. It enter­tained me for sev­en days, all these men and their man­ly and pro­fes­sion­al machinery.

Win­ter arrived in a gust of wind, and the cold was not slow to make itself felt, enter­ing through the great north­ern gate. There will be a thaw, they say. Oh, yeah, I bought boots for myself. The last ones were tak­ing water.

In short, noth­ing to say, and yet I talked about a lit­tle bit of every­thing. So it’s a fog­gy lit­tle vaca­tion and already the return to work next Mon­day. My qui­et life is like hum­ble learn­ing of state­ments that are more ambigu­ous than I am. Every­day life, this great god with­out words, is thus made.