no future for naps in sight.

I’ve started swimming again, as though it’s something significant.


I’ve found a home on the top floor of a house quainter then one I’ve ever been blessed to live in. Not that I can complain about where I’ve formally lived.
A bachelor the size of a shoebox, a glamorous shoebox at that, containing pumps that cost more then the monthly payment, metaphorically speaking.
I’ve never owned shoes quite that expensive.
Fully furnished, accompanied by perfect smoking deck in a non-smoking environment.  


What’s a girl to do? 
Quit.  Throw herself over balconies edge?


Still lacking a job.  My landlord believes my Gay comrade is my Boss.   A year younger then me, his pre-grad profession puts my lack of motion to shame. 
I didn’t really have a plan of action after being deported
& Here I am.
On this frost bitten Wednesday morning, after signing my first lease and agreeing to give my time back to the city where I was bred, grew and faltered, I sigh.
Dazed, in what could have been an afternoon spent in the dewy meadows or billowing castles of Edinburgh.  My degree waits patiently for me.


Literature, we’ve always had a love/hate relationship.


I would consider this the after-life of my after-math.  Sharing a table at a busy Toronto coffee shop.  It’s zero degrees outside, and November hasn’t even hit us. I can hardly breathe, I’m feverish, not prepared to face another Canadian winter. 
But, this seems to be what I’m left with.
An empty mug, half a plank of sanded wood, a dead fly in my water, cold sweats, a contract, all of what amounts to many empty minutes that must be filled.
I’d rather do it with words. 
So along with taking my aggression out in laps around the pool, I’ll write it out.


Welcome me home Toronto, you’re stuck with me.
for now.