Bennington to Montreal

No Writer this weekend, but he gave me a call last night. Just jet lagged and tired and was back at home. But a visit is to be arranged, and i've worked it out, messily, but it's worked. Check this out: Ma~ and I are going to hitch out to Bennington to the Writer's place, then we three are leaving together for Montreal where we'll pass the weekend. How we'll get to Montreal remains to be seen. I'd like to see if we can hitch all three.

Oooo, lala. I'm going to practice my French.

I did see the Punk (and upon having seen him realized what an awful pseudo that was to choose) on Saturday and we got a 6 of Sierra Nevada and a 6 of Belgian White and a bosilla of tostitos and some mild salsa, deposited ourselves on my bare living room floor in front of a big fan and talked and talked.

Last night I finished off two of the Whites and a Sierra while trying to digest the first 200 pages of Dicken's "Great Expectations". By beer numero tres, the words started swimming and I realized it was time to stop drinking and get some sleep. I woke up at 5AM this morning to finish the last 50 pages or so... and read, standing, sitting, walking and bussing all the way to school, with that damned monster of a book (500+ pages) propped up in my right hand, my thumb along the spine holding my page, as pedestrians and cars swerved about me.

I finished it about a minute before class began this morning at 8:45.

Last night I also spoke to my sister Jessie. You see, i've been suffering much anxiety over the prospect of returning to New York. Driven by that anxiety, I started looking for fares outta here. I found some amazing deals for London and decent ones for Chile. I started to think--- I can do this, I can get out of here, there is nothing stopping me but me...

But I don't know.

Oh, glut thy sorrow on a morning rose!