Oh here I go

Things that get me in the mood to travel:
Time alone and Hounds of Love.

To celebrate, here's a sentence that I wrote on the back of one of the GCI posters that we used under the carbon copies at work. Yeah, I should have been working:

"Nevada was a crematorium that burned slow, waiting for her to rest, to die, to crumble back to dust and blow away with the sand, mixed into tumbleweeds and swallowed by vultures."

It's from Secret of the Clockwork Mouse (or the second name I think of).

So I was out the other night and went to my friend Tiger's house to talk and drink rum. She was doing homework for her poetry class, and for the first time this summer I got to really talk about literature and what I thought art was, and aestheticism. I mean, it's not like talking about the election all the time is bad, but it reminded me that my true love is literature, and that I totally belong in a place where I can talk about it. And that place will be where I am Monday, or tomorrow if I'm lucky.

I'm going back to Vancouver!! I hope that my housemates aren't bastards. I hope that my landlord isn't an asshole. I hope I can reserve the TV for the debates and the election and the occasional movie night, and that I can have people over, and that my friends from PDX come visit at least once per person, and that I don't run out of money two months in, because that will be a problem. I hope I get a job somewhere close enough that has decent hours, and I hope that I have enough free time to enjoy my last year there. And for fuck's sake, I hope I see Okkervil River. I'd better fucking go see them.

Anyway, I have to get to packing. It's taken me about three hours to pack one bag...oy. Vey.