It’s ten to seven and I’m sitting inside the greyhound station restaurant once again. My nose is fucking blocked. Sipping the honey & lemon tea that doesn’t taste like honey at all. My hair has gone all static and won’t stop falling out, I’ve never had such thin hair in my life. Using volumiser shampoo is cheating and not good for the hair, either.

The neon lights are hurting my eyes. I wonder where all these men are heading. Yesterday’s seat partner was called Phil. He was from Ottawa and lived in Whistler, fellow stoner – a very nice guy looking to become a ancient history teacher.
This place feels homely, despite the ugly lights. How do you lock/unlock the door and flush the toilet in a public washroom? -You hold a piece of paper and then you touch the lock or the flush handle.

I had a good 27 hrs in Vancouver.
My aunt gave me back the rent money I had left her the last time I stayed with her. I feel bad.

Re-reading my old short stories. I can’t believe I came up with such fucked up ideas.
It’s so dark outside; the snow on the mountains remind me of my friend’s wedding cake. Her husband gave me a piece of cake that fell over on the plate. All of you know what that means… It means I won’t get married, because my mother in law wouldn’t approve of me.
I’m tired of blogging on my phone. I even tried getting Nick Cave tickets on my phone, but didn’t work.

Still no announcement of when the coach is leaving. I see Calgary written on the coach, let me in please. In fact, this place is making me feel loopy, and I’ve walked in circles for way too many times.

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