Info

For people who kill themselves

BC, Canada.

IMG_0499 dickhead

I left Perth 37 days ago. I’ve spent $3,572.90. Life in Cranbrook for the last 3 weeks has been easy while house sitting a 3 story place close to town. The owners took a holiday to Mexico and gave me a V8 Dodge to drive, complete snowboard setup and unlimited Wifi to use. I’ve been to 2 ski resorts close by and have made encouraging progress on the board. By the 4th day I could switch from heel to toe and make turns but I did get angry learning. Surely there’s only so many times you can smash your coccyx on the ice before it will break. Seeing kids a quarter of my age slicing through the tracks encouraged me to keep going. If I can learn to snowboard what else can I do?

At home I’ve been meditating, eating and spending a lot of time on the internet. Somedays before I go to bed I say “That’s it, I’m not using face book at all tomorrow”. Some areas of my life have coveted self discipline. Not this area.

I went to an ice hockey game and watched the players fight and spit every 5 seconds into the rink and on their team mates from the bench.

I went out with my new Buddy DAZ last night. He’s what you want from a friend, human and ginger haired. He teared up talking to me about his father, I hugged him. The only time I can cry is when I’m pissed out of my brain.

“Why aren’t you drinking?” A pair of slurring gentlemen request in unison at the bar. “Life is better when I don’t drink” I reply. “Oh bullshit” they proclaim motioning toward the bar to shout me a shot of tequila. “No, I’m serious men”. They do not appreciate my decline.

Within walking distance there is another bar called “Shotguns”. I now understand what these Gangnam Style posts about are.

There’s something about being on a dance floor full of drunk people that make’s me uncomfortable. It’s like the place is full of people not being themselves and the only way to get rid of the feeling is to join them.

Outside, walking down a lane way in the direction of the car, this girl run’s up to my side. “Do you remember me?”

She has wet brown eyes and straight brown hair that swings by the side of her face as we walk. She attempts to confirm her identity by detailing my raiment the day of our introduction. Ahh, yes. I remember, she was with DAZ one day. She had a tattoo behind her ear and colourful leggings on. She’s trouble I thought, maybe I’ll see her around. Between words she tries to catch my mouth with her bottom lip, her nose brushing past mine. I look down her top at her flat chest, the street light dilineates the striations over her sternum, an adjacent black bra. I’m hesitant to respond to her as some guy is watching us and calling her name, he is agitated. “Let me take your photo” I say. We separate, and the agitated swoops in, but not before my flash freezes her image onto a white canvas.

Tomorrow morning I’m hitch hiking to Nelson. I’ve heard countless people say how beautiful it is, full of hippies with a great ski mountain (Yes probably weed too but I’m not doing that anymore. Shut UP!)

I’m worried about being stranded at night on the way, it has happened before in Australia and I had to sleep on the side of the road. The difference here is it’s below zero and I will die. I’ve just ruined my $500 sleeping bag by not following washing instructions properly. If I survive and make it there, I have at least one place to stay. A guy emailed me in response to my advert on ilovenelson.com for a couch to sleep on. He said I was welcome at his home in town but…He has an American Pit Bull terrior which is “a good dog” but is very protective and doesn’t like people with anxiety. HAHAHAHAHAH. Lucky I’m vaccinated!

IMG_0785 shes bad

Comments

No comments yet.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Basic HTML is allowed. Your email address will not be published.

Subscribe to this comment feed via RSS