Across the street there was a Seven-Eleven. It was 7:11 PM. She gasped. So my weekend was actually pretty good. I smoked one half a pack over three days, which, is - if you know me- considerably less then I smoke usually. I also realized that as unproductive a weekend that it probably was, that I'll be glad that I took it in about one week or so.

The weather was the right amount of sunny cold, and the air was crisp and fresh. I went snow-shoeing this afternoon through my summer (grouchy) neighbor's place, to make sure no one had been prowling around his huge yard and cabin. No one except for a curious badger, which was weird, because I've never even seen traces of badger before- but the gait in the tracks was unquestionably what it was. Davey Crockett has nothing on my mad tracking skillz. My grandpa taught me how to track when I was like eleven. I tell everyone this, but I doubt anyone believes me because only one or two of my friends have even seen me in that kind of context. Grandpa wanted to groom me to be a hunter (ess?) of moose. As soon as I discovered his plans, I foiled them- but admittedly, I take secret pleasure in being extremely comfortable in the woods in this manner. It's nice to not be someone who goes, "ok, there's some trees- beautiful- let's go." You think you see everything in one picture in the forest, but if you lower yourself to groundlevel, or raise yourself above the ground, it's a whole new multitude of things to look at. If anyone knows a dirty hippy looking for someone like me, let me know.

I heard my uncle use that phrase today, in a hostile manner as a matter of fact: "That damn dirty hippy- god, what an asshole. He made me install his phone for him, and filed bankruptcy a week later (pointing at building on bonnyville mainstreet)."

Yesterday, we went to the playcenter for kids that my mom volunteers at - I ran into three girls that graduated a year ahead of me, all of whom had children in tow. I wasn't horrified, because it's not stupid for someone my age to have kids, but I was horrified because I realized "it's just that close to me- that childbearing thing- and I wonder if I'll ever be mature enough for that." And then I overheard the conversation of the three mums regarding a houseparty, and decided that perhaps I would be mature enough.

Coming home tonight was something I've been dreading all day. And while I managed to sneak into the house relatively unnoticed, the first journey to my room was jarring.

Underneath a shoddily scotch-taped up clump of hair and yarn and thread and lint (this is like The Ring- it was horrifying) that was hanging like a scalp off my door, was a note that said "Emerson-This is the last time. The last time I will clean the head of the vacuum off because you did not (and stick it's filthy filthy contents on your door)." Missing segment: "If you do this again, I will transform into a harpy and gouge your eyes out with my scissor-like talons, vacuum up your entrails, AND MAKE YOUR PARENTS CLEAN THE HEAD! BWAH HA HA HA !!!"

My dad wrote a nasty letter to the Journal about a smoking ban at the workplace. I support him 100%, and wrote him a joke letter underneath his on his laptop equating smokers to people walking around with chainsaws. A danger to yourself and others, don't you know?

So honestly, I'm bummed about Mr. Pink. I'm bummed about my grandma's surgery. I miss my friends. They never call me.

  ¶ 10:58 PM