Day 142 / A Day Of Lethargy


Sleep is at a premium here in the valley it seems. Though I suppose it always is whenever I fly home from LA. The time difference kills me. But more than that I think it's just the new environment. Or perhaps, the old environment. The old habits; staying up late and sleeping in. And occasionally masturbating to Councillor Troy on Star Trek after school. Ah, childhood. Good times. 

We got to sleep at around 6am this morning and remained in bed till around 3 maybe. I don't know, it's a haze. When we got up there was snow on the ground so on day one the dog got to have his first experience with the cold, white, shit. I was disappointed somewhat that he seemed quite comfortable right away. I had been hoping for the little dance most dogs do in the snow when they don't want their paws on the ground and try to pick them up and put them back down quickly in an attempt to escape gravity. 

He did no such thing. Though I don't think he was altogether pleased with the cold. The big dog tried to get him to play but he was having none of it and went back in immediately. The same can be said for Jeannette as well, though I believe being from Quebec she's seen her fair share of snow. But she's not a fan. 

I think people think we're crazy to come back to NS from sunny California in November  but it's that kind of thing that only solidifies my resolve. Most people also don't seem to have a problem with Rob Ford smoking crack on the job and being deleriously drunk at a house party threatening to kill people. His popularity is higher than ever, which leads me to believe that "most people" must not know what they're talking about. 

The only thing that will be tough about being home will be the time it'll take to establish a routine. I'm in desperate need of getting back to one. Get up early, walk the dog for half and hour while listening to something thought provoking on audible. Get home, work out, eat breakfast, and dig into the writing. Then there's lunch, some reading, perhaps a bit more writing, and the evening to hang out with family or go see a movie. Throw sex in there whenever it's offered or procured (what a cold way to put it!) and you have the perfect daily routine of Robert MacDonald/Jay Malone. 

But when????? Jesus Christ. It's already 2:30am and I'm still wide awake. So tomorrow might not be a good candidate. And even then I'm still at my parents place. Still a nomad for a few more weeks at least. So difficult to maintain a routine when you don't know where you're going to be from day to day. But then, that's the challenege of a structure isn't it? Locking it in no matter where you are or what you're doing. if people can write books while working 40 hours a week and raising a family, there's no reason I can lock into the same process while sitting around my parents house, or Jeannette's families place, or an igloo up north. 

Come on Rogers, are we getting a season two or not? It's Canadian television we're talking about here, not the finer points of the design of a new CanadaArm. 

If the show goes, I'll be in Vancouver in a few months and until then likely somewhere warm and tropical writing my first draft. If it doesn't, I'll be in Halifax doing the very same thing. The structure is the same, the particular details of geography and subsequent attire will be different. I'd just like to know so I can start making some plans. 

All right, I'm done yapping for tonight. I'm tired and jetlagged and just feel generally out of sorts. I know the reasons and I'm doing my best to give myself some slack, given the rather significant details of the last few days and weeks, but it's hard to not feel like old patterns of procrastinations could use this time to weasle their way in there and lock back in place. 

Okay, that's it then. One day off and tomorrow we get back at it! No more dicking around. I'm getting up and walking the dog while Nietszche is blasting into my ear drums and no one is stopping me. 

How much time do I really need to slack off anyway? I took a couple of plane rides to get here and had a bit of hot chocolate spilled on my dog. It's not like I led a caravan of wagons through Indian burial grounds and frozen tundras full of lawless thieves and renegades.

"Suck it up and get back to work you little bitch," I said to myself, out loud, just now. 

Honestly, we're all such pussies these days. Future generations are going to be utterly insufferable. - mp