What do you mean you thought I was dead?

So the other morning the phone rings. Kilmer is over, he's set up a matress on my floor. It's the other side of a long night of drinking, and my hungover sarcastic attitude is highly sensitive to irony. A perfect time to pick up the phone.



"Hello?"











*pause*

"I'm sorry, that is not a valid response, please press one to speak with one of ou-" *click*

what the fuck?

How appropriate. I have been anywhere but here for the last four months, and though I've been home for probably 5 days or more now, I never truly felt like I was back in civilized north america until the moment I unsuspectingly picked up the phone, only to have my 'hello' response promptly judged as invalid. By a robot. Don't judge me robot!

Since when do robots have a fucking clue about what is a valid response? Sorry robot, but in english speaking countries hello is a universally accepted greeting on the phone. You know what isn't? Telling me to press one.

The mundane struggles of modern life slowly seep back into my existence, and a strange sense of familiarity flavoured with extract of "I don't quite belong here" creeps into my awareness.

I am back.

So like two friends who haven't seen each other for a long long time, let's not bother trying to pore over EVERY detail of our hiatuses (hiati?) We'll trust that since we're such awesome friends those stories will come out eventually (and they will). Let's just glaze over the rough outline which will give context to all subsequent discourse.

Since we last chatted about jetlag and soullag I went to my WRT course, got to camp, did tripper training, led a 3 day looper, a 12 day Coulonge (Quebec), and a 24 day stint on the rivers Duchef-Ashuapmushuan (also Quebec, is anyone seeing a pattern here?). Both epic adventures.

So I concluded while talking to Deb that 12 weeks of my recent life have been spent in a place that prefers French to all other languages. I honestly feel a lack of French in my life now, on signs, on labels, in conversations going on around me. Don't get me wrong, I would never tell you I speak French, I just am used to it.

Funny how that worked out.

After camp there was of course the obligatory consumption of alcohol. This consists of:

• Tripper Day off
• 
  
• Senior Staff and Tripper Party
• 
  
• Staff Party
• 
  
• You're back in Guelph so party with your australian friend
• 
  
• Do it again, but with a different set of camp friends
• 
  
• Party with your camp friends again cause they're having a party
  

And that's really nothing compared to what some have gone through. A lot of people haven't had more than 3 nights off since camp ended. My aussie friend Anna hasn't had more than 3 off since her last day off on the 20th. That's a bit of a problem. She's on a plane to Brazil tomorrow though, so hopefully she'll catch a break there.

So what is my deal? Well Colin, you asked, settling in is going great. PS, Colin brought my BSB shirt from back south america after all, and he and Sarah bought me a nice sarong also. That was my prize for being the top poster on their blog. Thanks guys.

So now my days consist of throwing uncomfortable sums of money at the annual computer problems that I get around Sept, marching through miles of red tape to get into the courses that I need, and treating myself to small gifts after months of deprivation of paycheques and material goods. I have 2 semesters left of my master's, don't ask what I'm taking. It's a course based setup now, so It's "neuro stuff" no thesis or anything, though I will have to do some writing about the project I worked on (which failed miserably). Enough about that.

Just wanted to say hi and let you know I'm alive, that is if anyone still reads this thing. Also expect my trip log to get published here, (if I can find the thing) and be more entertaining than the last one, as there's a little more spite in it, and I feel like if you paid to read this, that's what you'd pay for, pure spite.

spitefully yours

-Marcus