con't from below. time runs out. y'know.

so, when I took my apron off (ooooh., the big determining move), things became clear. no more shit from you , you or you. This could have been a great moment to make my dramatic exit, however, my absentmindedness seemed to have misplaced the keys for my bike lock. sigh. This largely delayed my plans to leave on less than perfect terms, which turns out, has its plus sides. still breathing, thinking about how i am unable to transcend my way out of this situation, - - another comic turn, which my life seems to revolve around. Leaving nonetheless sans keys, i departed with two handshakes, one even for the mother..... that wench, ... and headed towards something else out into the rain. It's hard not to feel a little sorry for yourself when youre walking in the rain, without your beloved bike, and carrying only the crumpled 1000kronur bill he left you for the work that day, only using it to purchase a saw to unleash my bike from imprisonment.
All i could think of to feel better was Brad., of all people, a benevolently scattered man who appreciated, not corrected my work. I know this is all just a part of the game. everyones playing along, they just dont know it.
Iceland's flat out rejection of public pay phones is a good message towards my general angst towards the all too convenient telephone, which ring and ring and ring at home and i just want to bloody well hack it to pieces.

fuck it.

its okay with me too, marlowe.

on a significantly lighter note, the diary products here have me in awe and wonder. i will be smuggling skyir back to le canada by the sacks, but god damn all the milk variations to hell. i just want 1% milk. please?


moods change with the weather here, which is light speed. the sun will come, just give it a few days.


i am my own least favorite alien.
i am forever indebted to communication to keep my heart alive.