I've been having trouble sleeping lately. I'll lay awake in bed until as late as 4 in the morning, and the other night the reason struck me: I have to get back to writing my novel. It's been stewing in my brain for the better part of two years now. Last night I sat down as my kitchen table, my new workspace, and started writing out the narrative outline and descriptions of the woman I want to try and bring to life through the senses of others. before I make her a series of assertions I want to make sure that she is, in fact, real. That she is a person who makes decisions and has a set of ethics and lives a full life despite the tragedy with which she is afflicted. After sketching out in general terms the first half or so of her life, I was able to fall asleep at 2. It's working.

The new television arrived yesterday and it's pretty fantastic. It makes me want to revisit my entire movie collection. Yesterday Andrea came over and we watched Punch-Drunk Love. Unfortunately, she wasn't a fan, but damn if it didn't look great on the new TV.

I've started reading Alligator by Lisa Moore. Moore is a good writer, but I'm having trouble getting into it despite the phenomenal first chapter. Her descriptions of small things are poetic but too numerous. Maybe it's just not something I'm in the mood for right now.

Back still hurts. Yesterday I caught a trio of classic Canadian shows on TV: Danger Bay, The Beachcombers and King of Kensington (which featured a cameo from John Candy). I had a long conversation with Ash and later Andrea about this and that - people, places, plans. I'd like to think that this incident is going to mark some kind of turning point for me. I'll certainly never look at walking straight the same way again.

I received some more information about helping out with the writers' workshop in Toronto. I'm scheduled to leave in a week. It's my strongest motivation to get better. I'm certainly glad this didn't happen while the Senate was still in session. There's no way I would have been able to make it into work.

Andrea is moving the big stuff into her new apartment tomorrow. I wish I could be more of a help. I haven't even been outside since the hospital trip a few days ago. Hopefully I can give it a shot when she comes over later today. I need to get some exercise if my back is going to be strong enough to support me. Painkillers is one thing, but I don't want to turn into jelly.

I've been reading Joan Didion's The White Album, a collection of essays that typically uses 1960's California as its muse. I don't always have a clear idea as to what she's referring but I do like her attraction to how things like highways and aqueducts and shopping malls actually work. She travels extensively, exploring the world of Marquez' One Hundred Years of Solitude, quoting the first line of that text, one of the greatest of all time:

"Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant afternoon when his father took him to discover ice."

The White Album opens with a line that may be as great:

"We tell ourselves stories in order to survive."

There is something of great importance here in which I am trying to instill belief.

I'm off until next Friday, which is nice, because I won't have to deal with the erratic practice of snoozing from 10 PM - midnight, watching Conan, catching the bus at 1:42 AM at Smyth, working until 6 AM, and then arriving home at around 6:30 AM (or later) to sleep until 1 (or until just before the Daily Show airs at 2).

It just dawned on me that when you break it down, my life really just revolves around my TV.

Yesterday I messed around with the Subtractor synth in Reason and used it to make raygun sounds. Purchase of keyboard officially justified. Andrea and I went to the Kamp Fringe event and drank disgusting beer while grooving to samba music. Sweet.

I might be going to Toronto for a week in July on a classroom assistant gig at Humber. More on that soon.

Last night's jam with Matt and Steve went to show how out of shape I am as a musician. My callouses are coming back and my right forearm is chafed from playing. We played for about 4 and a half hours before I crashed on Steve's couch. We recorded a bit, just some jam material and takes of a couple of songs including an old one called "Helen" from the Black Hill archives. I took lead vocals on it and shot my throat to pieces. The stuff doesn't sound that great off the floor but there might be some stuff in there worth fooling around with. All in all it was just nice to play again.

I watched too much TV yesterday. I'm not used to watching hours of it at a time and I get headaches around the 8th straight episode of Seinfeld. Hopefully I'll be able to keep myself busy with other things in the weeks to come, if for no other cause then for the benefit of my brain.

The big news this morning is that I have a job interview at 10 for a proofreading position with the Senate. It came about thanks to meeting Andrea's landlady, who has connections there and knew I was looking for a job. I haven't been back a week and I'm already riding the wave of Ottawa nepotism. The hours are crazy (2 AM - 6 AM three days a week) but the pay is outstanding and would offer me experience and a foot in the door. Hopefully the meeting will go well. I spoke to the employer briefly yesterday and things look positive so far.

Yesterday I watched Wonder Boys, read more of Slaughterhouse-Five and made chili. TV is pulling me back into its warm, radiating embrace, whispering sweet nothings of "Scrubs," "The Office" and "30 Rock" into my ear.

I need to go make myself look halfway presentable. First step: leaving my City of Amsterdam shoulder bag at home.