I almost got stuck on the ferry talking to a woman who screeched like Carmela Soprano this afternoon. I tried to break into her one woman 4 act play about her moving from Windsor for Northern Ontario, meeting a guy and then staying to work in the mines. She started talking about mining and how women aren't really encouraged to work there. After the first 15 minutes, I realised she had probably watched North Country too many times and probably fancied herself as a Charlize Theron look-a-like.

Pretending to take Buckley for a walk, I changed locations and almost barfed when I watched the water and scenery go by. I've decided I don't like the ferry anymore. All I can think about when I'm on it is what would happen if Buckley suddenly plummeted under the guard rails and into the water? Would I be brave enough to jump in or would I just stand there and weep like an idiot?

Home now. Driving into the city, I didn't feel like I was coming home. No sense of relief. No sighing as I passed the London city limits. Just...nothing. In all honesty, I don't think I've felt really like I had a home of my own since well...since I owned my house.

Slick streets, old songs and comforting movies. They must be my guard rails.
I did get a job, though. And the Matt Good concert is on Tuesday.