September 12, 2016
I got a text the computer was not communicating. I texted back and then called and walked them through it. All fixed again. I got another text, and replied my assumption on the schedule and my missed days off and then promptly switched my phone to airplane mode. Twenty minutes goes far too quickly and I have used half of it already.
I am on page seventy-two of “The Bell Jar”, once my phone is charged enough I will return to my site to write and read some more. There is a chill in the shade but certainly nicer than the minus six Nordegg had last night. It is plus five there now and plus seventeen here – and Nordegg is one hour ahead in the day.
Afternoon – my beard and moustache are full of what appear to be gray or white hairs, I think it is just my original blond peeking through but I am told that gray makes me more handsome, so gray they are. I am on page one hundred seventy-four of “The Bell Jar” with only fifty pages left to read.
Sylvia Plath committed suicide at the age of thirty. It is interesting how they refer to it as “a defiant coming-of-age story told in sharp prose and shot through with black humour”. I find it a vivid, honest reflection of real life of how mental illness can darken ones’ soul. She must have been a fascinating young woman.
I am at the wifi lounge charging my camera, impressively it went four hundred and eighty-eight photos on a single charge, that is half my vacation.
Late Afternoon – I have noticed that when I write out a list of things to do that I include things I have just recently completed. Is this to inspire me somehow to complete the remaining tasks, or is it in case my list is discovered and I appear to complete tasks I assign to myself. “Oh look” they would say “he must be organized and driven in his thoughts for he completes so many tasks so quickly”.
And then there are the tasks that I never seem to complete and reside on my list day after day, week after week, as the growing and now inaccurate pile of receipts in my office will attest to. I just accidentally, or perhaps subconsciously intentionally burned over a dozen receipts. If I record all the ones I have then the list will never be complete.
I do not know why I keep a ledger anyways. I am not reimbursed or taxed on ninety-nine percent of it. A strange curiousity stemming back to my ninth year in school perhaps? I recall my father keeping a ledger, and how one of us re-drafted his chequebook record into a lined notebook. I remember the bills, and cheques sorted into neat piles on the diningroom tablecloth. I remember seeing once how on his wages he could support a wife and two kids, a car, a dog or cat and a house, on that was beyond me. I live alone and eat like a poor man and I still would not take a job for less than thirty thousand.
Tomorrow perhaps I will drive up into town and play a tourist photographing this and that. I saw the most marvelous paving of a back parking lot and I must get a photo of it. The lot, the hills, all one uninterrupted wave of asphalt.
Evening – I took half an hour this evening to re-organize my truck. I am not sure what I will do with the forty empty water bottles I removed by I do have plans for the two bottles of Smirnoff. Some citiots have arrived, first they parked and proceeded to cut branches from the tree in their way. Tonight he went down to the river and dragged up two fallen trees while she pulled over wood from a neighbouring campsite. Now he is over there hacking the hell out of things – are they too cheap to buy wood like the rest of us, and not destroy the natural landscape, or are they just ignorant?
I can hear a few coyotes off in the direction past where I took my walk the other day. They sound like they are moving further up hill, maybe near that farm I saw the horses. They are clearly worked up about something, barking, howling and yelping. I can hear three but I am betting there is four or five.
I think they were those damned dogs again near the entry. They sounded so much like a pack of coyotes on the hunt. Yup I need rest.
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