And furthermore, it should be noted that yesterday I fell asleep on the bus on my way home early from work and didn't wake up until I was far beyond my stop and in Poco, no less. We all know what Matt Good says about Poco girls. They wear jackets with detatchable hoods, of course.
Sometimes I forget how public my life has become lately. I was watering the plants on my patio when all of a sudden someone yelled out at me "where did you get your watering can? It's cool!" I had to wait a moment for the synapses to fire and process the situation. ie:
I am standing outside on my balcony
&there4
people can see me
&there4
someone is talking to me
&there4
I'm expected to respond
It's going to take a while for me to get used to this stuff.
In rushes public relations aspirations Erin who kindly states that I got my absolutely awesome watering can from a store in Steveston called Prickly Pear, but that I know that you can get the same ones in white and pink from the gardening shop between the cement factory and Granville Island Market on Granville Island.
Then a very polite, grandfatherly looking man asked me if I lived here alone. "Of course not," I lied, which put him instantly at ease. Young girls shouldn't live alone, you know. They need nice men to protect them. I guess it wasn't completely a lie, though. Gradually I'm beginning to fashion a sasquatch of a boyfriend out of the hair I pull out of the drain in my shower. I'll zap him to life once I find some batteries for my TV remote.
With the rate that I shed, I figure it will be another three months before he weighs as much as a regular boyfriend. We're going to have to work on conversation skills though.
His name is Hubert.
You know, most of the time when I'm writing or talking I stop far short of what I'm actually thinking. Far short. I just got an absolutely disgusting mental image of me screwing a matted clump of my own hair and it wasn't pretty. I'm absolutely disgusted. Tonight, at least, I sleep alone. Be joyful.
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