yyt

So I am driving up to Pouch Cove, thinking how precarious my state is here. The great thing about Martin and Gabrielle was that they made me feel like Sullivan’s Loop was mine. Theoretically I was grateful but I didn’t realise how grateful I should be. Overstating it a bit this time I was a transient and not in the sense that I was moving onward but moving because the place that I was staying in was booked for a period of time.

After all these years the lingering effect of going to the same school for 15 years has me aware of temporality and thus not being able to feel at home until I feel that I can stay.

Hence the lack of a darkroom in Peasant’s Pissoir, where putting one in would make it feel more permanent – double edged sword there.

Entering Martin and Gabrielle’s felt like being home. Everything is the way that it was left. There may be some new books, another cd and a new appliance, but I don’t have to search for things, Paul and I have made it cyber friendly and I don’t have to get up and move. I didn’t have to worry about how the place looked until I left and then could clean it up. If I had to race out I could. I could entertain there.

It was the same with the Parks Canada house in Woody Point. It was “mine”. It could be left as is. It was a place to come back to.

Am glad that I am back in Pouch Cove finally but having to move with less than a week left is a bit disrupting to the point where I was sort of regretting it – residential Stockholm Syndrome – I had my routine, I knew where the cooking utensils were. There were more areas of the city that I wanted to explore – more ballparks, an area surrounded by Le Marchant Road, Freshwater Road and who knows to the west. I was also realising how much better placed I was downtown when heading west since I was heading west a great deal - than in Pouch Cove. In truth it was more about making do with what I had than an actual preference.