to be back in montreal is
I am now back in montreal, and trust me, at this time of year, this city simply melts into the bone.
So hot. Heavy.
We live plastered to the freezer, taking 3 cold showers on a good day. Having the top floor apartment in summer without air conditioning isn’t quite as sexy as it sounds.
I smell like raw sweat.
Here is a poem I wrote years ago that reminds me of this moment (though, the poem was written in fall)
.
A late day’s sun swims in,
Yellowing the fabric’s milky calm,
Hot air, sticky with the moment,
Wraps life in a yawn.
Half past six and singing ladies,
Diddily doo doo.
Stillness, though not met with silence,
Proves tired seconds grow.
I found beauty in a sunbeam,
As it played across a wall,
As the sky bent down to listen,
And the day sank into fall.
Youth’s eye is so familiar
With this golden melancholy.
A creeping heat distracting from
The throwing about of season.
.
My last week in little London Ont was fairly flabbergasting.
Sebastian was ping-ponging it through several steamy weekends, followed by teary afternoons when he failed to call.
I threw away any piece of dignity I’ve got to get him back,
And then,
It worked! BAM, last week we were just a couple again. Well, except the point at which I asked “are we a couple again?” to which he replied “no”.
Haha
But we were kissing again, caring and cuddling and saying the ‘I love you’s again…
It was dreamy.
I suppose that leaves me here in montreal, officially single, trapped in a cage of drunken, brawling, sexually driven McGill academics. Yes, all the girls moved out of the big house - that is, my McGill microcosm on university ave, and several new boys seem to have moved in.
Being now nearly the ONLY female, I am a tad outnumbered.
I’ve only been back for 24 hours, and already I believe I’ve been offered about 20 sexual favours.
Pfft. Favours. Haha - oh man, being the only woman in a house of hounds…
This is sure to be an interesting summer.
SEBASTIAN! SAVE ME BEFORE I GROW A PENIS OR AM PRONOUNCED DEAD DUE TO A BEATING BY ONE!
A bientot.
So hot. Heavy.
We live plastered to the freezer, taking 3 cold showers on a good day. Having the top floor apartment in summer without air conditioning isn’t quite as sexy as it sounds.
I smell like raw sweat.
Here is a poem I wrote years ago that reminds me of this moment (though, the poem was written in fall)
.
A late day’s sun swims in,
Yellowing the fabric’s milky calm,
Hot air, sticky with the moment,
Wraps life in a yawn.
Half past six and singing ladies,
Diddily doo doo.
Stillness, though not met with silence,
Proves tired seconds grow.
I found beauty in a sunbeam,
As it played across a wall,
As the sky bent down to listen,
And the day sank into fall.
Youth’s eye is so familiar
With this golden melancholy.
A creeping heat distracting from
The throwing about of season.
.
My last week in little London Ont was fairly flabbergasting.
Sebastian was ping-ponging it through several steamy weekends, followed by teary afternoons when he failed to call.
I threw away any piece of dignity I’ve got to get him back,
And then,
It worked! BAM, last week we were just a couple again. Well, except the point at which I asked “are we a couple again?” to which he replied “no”.
Haha
But we were kissing again, caring and cuddling and saying the ‘I love you’s again…
It was dreamy.
I suppose that leaves me here in montreal, officially single, trapped in a cage of drunken, brawling, sexually driven McGill academics. Yes, all the girls moved out of the big house - that is, my McGill microcosm on university ave, and several new boys seem to have moved in.
Being now nearly the ONLY female, I am a tad outnumbered.
I’ve only been back for 24 hours, and already I believe I’ve been offered about 20 sexual favours.
Pfft. Favours. Haha - oh man, being the only woman in a house of hounds…
This is sure to be an interesting summer.
SEBASTIAN! SAVE ME BEFORE I GROW A PENIS OR AM PRONOUNCED DEAD DUE TO A BEATING BY ONE!
A bientot.