Lua and I are chilling out on Andrea's bed, enjoying the silence of an empty apartment. I used the laundry facilities in my building for the first time today and aside from a small hesitancy on behalf of the washing machine to work properly, my clothes are clean. I decided to retire three shirts from my rotation. While waiting for my clothes to dry, I finished reading The Sound and the Fury. Now I'm going to look up some criticisms to find out exactly what the hell it's about. My guess is that it's sort of a cross between plot elements found in A Streetcar Named Desire and Chinatown set against the Gothic south that only Faulkner and Flannery O'Connor can emulate.

I had dinner with Rachael at the diner last night and we talked for a couple of hours, though we were both kind of tired. I tried explaining to her how I've felt about writing so far this year and I got bored of listening to myself. I really don't make a whole lot of sense. Better I should just write and keep my opinions about it to myself until they're actually worth a damn.

Rachael asked me how I was doing, and I told her I was happy. And I am, to tell the truth. Everything feels nice at the moment. No complaints, no real worries. I used to worry that I was the kind of thinker who would never appreciate happiness if he found it, but I've always been too willing to criticize myself for feeling as though I'm not getting a fair shake. The shake is fair. Ottawa is becoming a new sort of home, one that doesn't stand for the negative things it used to stand for. I'm no longer driving myself as crazy as I used to, or at least I'm being crazy about better things.

There has been a copy of The Tommyknockers by Stephen King sitting at the top of the lobby steps for the last week. Last night I picked it up and brought it inside and started reading it. I've only read one Stephen King book before, and it was under his Richard Bachman pseudonym, so why not?

It’s official. As of August 1st I'll have the keys to an apartment at 110 Gloucester. I woke up to a voicemail message saying that I just needed to come in and sign the lease. This will be the eighth apartment I've moved into in the last ten years, but for the first time I won't have a roommate. My very own place. One less huge thing to worry about. Having both places over August will allow a smoother transition when it comes to moving, too. I'm excited.

I met with Peter, Rachael, Kyrie, and... I'm going to say Joni on the St. Louis patio last evening to discuss show plans. Pete wants a two-night thing with Kyrie and a Montreal modernist poets tribute as headliners. Kyrie brought up holding it in a church, which is, I think, a fantastic idea. Just have to gauge how this is going to take shape.

I'm working four days next week, Tuesday through Friday, as the Senate winds down for the summer. I need to relax a bit.

Waking up beside Andrea is one of the purely enjoyable experiences in my life. Dancing would be a close second. I've had the opportunity to do both in the last 12 hours and I couldn't feel happier.

Mod Night was a madhouse last night given that it was the long weekend. There was still a queue out front by the time we left around 1:30. Inside we had sweaty good times. It's comforting to know that certain things don't change - Emmett's setlist, for example.

I went to Peter's house for dinner and drinks before the club. I hadn't seen the guy for months and we caught up on what's been happening with In/Words and what he's planning on doing next. It sounds as though a lot of drama and clashes of opinion ensued on the editing team after I left. I doubt anyone worked harder than Pete trying to hold things together. Rachael was also at the party, who I hadn't seen for a little over a year. It was great catching up with old friends.

The wind is howling away outside. Good day to stay in doing not much of anything.