the long yard

Phew. And just like that the wheel turns. Past few weeks back at work, and tres gorge it is. Sun, trees, sand, wind...bye bye to photo above, hello to--well there's no pictures yet. Yet to be fully settled up north...the old trailer has departed, a newer one will be rolling in sometime soon.

I'm still not fully adjusted to the 730-4 Monday to Fiddy-day work week. Fell asleep at 6p.m. last night and awoke at 130 a.m., slept for four more hours, then off to work. Dreams, off the hook epic dreams--which has not happened to me for a while. Four or five book length stories, replete with all the worries, desires, and strangeness that one could hope for.

Future tech: a nano dream recorder.

plug

Ever seen Wallander? If you haven't, do. It's the BBC filmed version of the Swedish detective novels by Henning Mankell. No, I have not read the books. I must say that I instinctually feel that though the books may be great, the filmed versions are just as good. It's the same thing with the Dragon Tattoo series. I've read the books and watched the films in that particular case, and enjoyed both. Anyway, Wallander is relentlessly grim, but the rural scenes of southern Sweden remind me very much of Saskatchewan. And Kenneth Branagh is fucking great in it. I read somewhere recently that he's sold out, just because he's directing the new Thor film. All this reaffirms for me is that those who sit in their basements and get mad at people for selling out are, well, sitting in their basements getting mad at people for selling out.

K.B. is fucking brilliant in Wallander. If I ever end up a diabetic, perpetually tired, slightly-alcoholic-yet-morally-astute-detective, then--I hope I'll be half the man Wallander is.

i spy synopsi

So, I thought, (some months ago), that I was going to lick this shit. With all my years and experience, aceing english classes would be like, well, taking candy from a baby. NON, monsieur, n'es pas bonbons pour toi!
Sickness combined with my old frenemy/alter-ego Super Procrasto, left me a little desperate, a little alone in my own void, sweating with fear and self-loathing. Yes, it was that bad. You know, as if bin Laden knew the Seals were coming to get him in twenty minutes, and those stewing moments stretched themselves out into hours....
I exaggerate. There were a couple of good times in there.
Alex Ferguson, manager of Manchester United, calls the battle for supremacy at the end of the Premier League season 'squeaky bum time'. It was getting a little squeaky by the end of April. But everything got done, exams all written, now I await judgement.
Finished the last exam with a Pixie concert, slightly shellshocked, glad I went.
Thought I started work on Monday. I spent most of Sunday wishing I could spend the day on a patio drinking beer. But Waskesiu called...turns out it was a wrong number. Two weeks until I start.
Now I've got time to--do everything I was neglecting. Taxes, trailer, spring cleaning...thank the gods! Thank them over and over and over and...