I don't think I do well in interviews. Wonderful idea: If only I could hire someone to do an interview in my place, using only my knowledge.

I guess I will have to wait for the invention of the good kinds of robots.

I stubbed my toe the other night. And I also cut off most of my hair. The two are not related. My hair used to be about 15 inches (from my shoulders) long, and I decided that I'm tired of it, want a change, lets pretend I can pull off a short hair cut and voila! a hair cut the stylist *swore* was the perfect cut for my face shape. Think Meg Ryan hair style (You've Got Mail) only not as thin and not as cute. The great thing about hair is that it grows back. (Hopefully).

I never did seem to pull off thin very well. But it's just the way things are in this world.

When I hear the words: snow drops, I think of smooth melting edges of snow. Cold water dripping and birds fluttering around the nearest trees. They cry for things I have no knowledge of.

Its damp outside right now. The snow has melted down a little. Snowman making snow. Buckley leaves little footprints you can follow, although you may look a bit like you're having a seizure because he is always all over the place. He loves it here more than I do.

The trees don't speak to me on this part of the planet. When I do manage to drift off to sleep, I wait for the sounds of raining water, or crashing seas. I always hope for the sound that I can listen to, for the rest of my life. But I haven't heard it yet.

The entire family will be descending upon the city of London (Ontario) for the holidays. It will be loud, there will be many people (on the Greek side) and I will try to fold myself into a dark corner where I will smoke cigarettes and drink champagne. Then, maybe I will rent a cheap motel room and sleep there with the dogs.

I feel the tug of the current and it jerks me down like a shark taking a bite. Topside cigarettes taste the best.

Labels: cold, Gish, Manitoulin Island, melancholy, Northern Ontario, smoking, winter, writing