Vancouver is my home and it’s not my home; it could be anywhere. I could be anywhere. You are left alone; I am left alone — most of the time, whether I want to be left alone or not. This is not purely a matter of disinterest, no. People sniff around for a year or more, (You need that much time to invent elaborate rejection scenarios); donít scoff, no one ever died of being too timid.

We tried to have discussion groups at my college; it didnít work, people kept agreeing with each other too quickly. All this agreement, however, should not be confused with actual agreement. You can’t even take for granted that anyone is awake.

Still, I live here. I’m alone most of the time. It rains. Rain, however, is too simple a word to convey the full variety of wetness. There is, first, the darkness. Sometime in October the sun retreats. Light becomes depressed, muted, not its usual self. She gets lazy, heart broken. She’s unable to rouse herself until later, later in the day. Mornings start at eight, then at nine and then even later. What follows is a hung over version of brightness; muted, fuzzy-tongued grayness. You remember all your most embarrassing moments, in slow motion. It looks like used cotton balls, it hums with the soft whine could have been. It smells of regret. Rain. (more…)