post notes, two months later
I found these stream-of-consciousness notes from many weeks ago and it feels just right as it is. The winter is over! This unrelenting winter. I couldn't do much, like all of us in the Maritimes, other than either buy a plane ticket or batten down and wait for it to stop.
As I write this, three days from May, it's snowing again. But it won't stick. Like bigotry and heartbeats it knows it's doomed, falling on soft mud and new worms.
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The roads grunt and heave and the highway is lined like a tunnel of snowy white concrete that's taller than the car, and everyone's beaten up and slamming into potholes and bottoming out, and this winter: everyone's bottoming out.
I shovelled that roof three times, worried about collapse
The boys climbed up and needed no boost
I ran away to Cuba. There was a band.
Came home, watched the kids in the backseat, their eyes darting around. I hadn't seen them in too long. I almost ate them up. They demolish novels the same way they demolish pancakes. What do they think? What do they see? Will I ever stop wondering?
Ben drinks pina coladas now. He says Without Rum Please.
I will save money. I will run away again, except next time, with them.
It was the only way through.
