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27 August 2016 – Sonora’s ‘furken-zakki’. Said to me after turning down a second dolderhead who’d approached our table to buy us drinks. It (furken-zakki) becoming our buzzword for the rest of the evening. She’s a hoot and an inspiration. Sonora. We laughed all night. In celebration. ICE Club. The completion of her summer work schedule and entering the last year of her degree. In jest. Errant males on Saturday night pub crawls. My continuing, against all sound judgement, to work at rec centre. Her having landlord issues and potentially having to postpone a trip back home (to see her mom, and maybe the ex who keeps on wading in her wings, a foot or a shadow or an otherwise incomplete object at the edge of a picture). Furken-zakki to the lot! Got to being pretty drunk did wee little lightweights. It’s not even midnite. (Before I forget, have to remember to speak to G about basement suite. We’ve been considering renting it out. But only if we don’t have to act like furken landlords!)

 

28 August 2016 – Rainy Sunday afternoon visiting Dot. Wasn’t in best shape (hungover) but couldn’t put off. Haven’t seen her in over a month. Seems to have aged some. Maybe I didn’t notice it before. Too much commotion. Didn’t have her to myself (or she didn’t have me to herself). Our last extended period of alone time together prolly goes back to before Melville went into hospital. She knows she doesn’t have to try with me, doesn’t have to fuss, be the busy host. Can just be herself. Today she looked tired, deflated. She was happy to see me of course. No issues there. It’s just, well, you notice when an energetic soul is a touch short of their usual vitality. I ended up taking her out for lunch (to a family restaurant she used to go to with Melville). She perked up almost immediately. And even though we mainly talked about how much she misses Melville (or V as she’s taken to calling him), she seemed more her bubbly self. One comment she made stuck out, ‘Outliving lovers becomes something of a bore after a few goes around. I knew going in that V was already well along. But I couldn’t resist his charm. First and foremost we were buddies. This is what I miss. Having my best buddy around.’ After lunch we went to the mall for tea. I told her about my dreams, them waking me up, in particular the last one (the only one I remember). She laughed and said it was plain as the falling rain that my biological clock wants its ticking heard. Ah, Dot, she may have lost a little pep but she’s still got aces up her sleeves.

 

29 August 2016 – Griffin vying for and not getting promotion at work. His response (upon passing along the news): ‘At least I can turn my attention to words again’ (he hasn’t been scribbling his one-liners for close to a month—every day of which, through habit, I’ve looked at the pad of foolscap on his desk and noticed that nothing continued to occupy the page). Needless to say he’s been a grumpy Gus (when he doesn’t write he glooms). But he had to try. For the promotion. Now he knows he did what he could. On with everything else. Like our forthcoming holiday. Less than two weeks hence. We’d hoped to drive down the coast. Then the possibility of promotion got in the way. Put pause to planning. To avoid disappointment. Looks like we’re back on track now! How swiftly our domestic mood has lifted. More good news: he’s all for Sonora as tenant.

*

Liz and girls working on collaborative project in garage. The girls applying paint to abstract scapes drawn in charcoal by Liz. The three of them so nuclear together you’d never know Tammy and Tracey (TNT!) aren’t Liz’s.

*

Riley’s story. ‘Bella’. A bit clunky and written out more as a sketch but rather sophisticated, I’d say. Goes something like this. A teenage girl wakes in a future and distant world (where she’s called B-22 and sleeps in shared quarters with many others of her own age) to discover that the life she thought she was living (in the here and now with the rest of us earthlings) was in fact a dream. This is a big deal. For it seems that in this future and distant world dreams, long thought to be an indication that something is wrong (or could be better), are a thing of the past. B-22 doesn’t wake of her own accord. She is prodded and shaken awake by a group of her fellow-agers (all of them wearing the same immaculate blue outfit, all of them with unblemished faces and perfect hair), who have gathered at her position (i.e., bed, which will retract into the wall when she gets up) because a) she was still asleep (fellow-agers always wake up with the morning lights that come on at the same time every day) and b) she was laughing (almost unheard of outside of meal times or scheduled social breaks). The group is simultaneously concerned and excited. They call out her name: ‘B-22! B-22!’ As she comes fully to one fellow-ager is bold enough to ask, ‘B-22, were you dreaming?’ B-22 replies, ‘Who are you all? And why are you calling me B-22?’ Her fellow-agers look at one another with fullmoon eyes. ‘B-but,’ one of them stammers, ‘But B-22 is your name.’ B-22 looks around the sleeping room. Its spic’n’span cleanliness beginning to look familiar. She looks down at the immaculate blue outfit she’s wearing. ‘But…Bella. Isn’t my name Bella?’

 

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