Wishing your eyes beautiful sights for beholding...

(and so the response, having magically received the passport two days early today, providing enough time to get truly excited, and to have the Delirium Tremens, and then a Guinness to coax you into accepting the Chairmanship of SBTS and another to watch England struggle toward a draw in Montenegro):

Yeah, I'm finding myself quite excited. Really an initial foray into the country to cross the Taj off as the last of my 7 "new" wonders, since I started with Machu Picchu in August 08, and also to soak in Varanasi. Jerusalem was one of my all-time favourite places, and I have a sense that V. will be similar, so I'm going to cross off the Taj quick and get down there and find a good place for a few days and just be overwhelmed. I'm in a real mindset for reflection, overdue, so am super keen to just get on the plane. Having a bit of a challenging time lately with uncertainties over work and the fairly certain knowledge that "partnership" and the courtship of ever-new work it entails is not for me (who would have thought? haha).  Where that might lead who knows, but hopefully the Ganges offers some suggestions...


"Wishing your eyes beautiful sights for beholding" is a lovely quote, makes it sound like I am in India already. No worries about Paddy's, as typical it became a bit of a mess so you were right to be sceptical of joining halfway through. But it was enjoyable as always. Take care and I will let you know how it goes. Not sure when the next pit-stop in Toronto will be... you, my friend, are long tardy in a trip to Halifax though. Why don't you pick a weekend and come out sometime this summer? There is no better place to philosophize than on my boat at midnight on the Atlantic under the bright stars...

Yes, that is the true, as Nas might say.  Let's hope he is back for a bit of it, since the scheming for Mecca will need to be next.  A struggle of a day, with that arbitrator conference call yielding what was all-too expected, and then being clueless on the BP PPA on top of it, requiring some face-saving work tonight. 

It was nice to step out, get slapped in the face by wind that is only destined to get warmer, and move forward, to be called out on doing what you should have volunteered awhile ago, and to have it done with kids gloves, and to watch it happen all the while with a knowing smile. 

Take the time you need tonight to sort out the work stuff.  And arise early tomorrow.  You need fall asleep only three more times, and then it is above the Atlantic, and then it is in Paris, and then it is in Asia in the land of sensory overload...  It has been too long since the hairs on this head have been shaved.  That cannot come soon enough.

Under Process

So stands the status of the India Visa... does that now count as 4 or 5 Business Days?  How sweet it will be to receive that in hand prior to the scheduled Good Friday departure, or alternatively how crushing to have to cancel the flights...  oh well, nothing to do but wait.  And hope that the longed-for pilgrimmage to the Ganges happens.  That good things do come.  And if not, that there will at least be other randomness as a result that may be yet preferred and for the best.  Following only one path, who can know?

As you sit here contemplating one of the worst weeks in awhile, the sun is shining on a magical Friday afternoon.  The strangest of meetings with a potential agent of Congolese minerals who found you of all people randomly through the Internet, legit and over his head in dreams and cautious... the back-and-forth ridiculousness over litigation discovery, with stubborn parties on all sides... the digesting of the news of other regular work that seems to be drying up, and dealing with inevitable thoughts of escape rather than efforts at reestablishment you promised yourself.  Amidst the back-and-forth over endings and beginnings and endings.  

Funny thinking of a potential career path teaching English abroad for the first time in eons, and maybe wondering about that sooner rather than later following the end of this well paid year.  Worrying about the boat and condo and how to continue supporting the coarse travel lifestyle.

Ah.  Wonder how much will be remembered and how much will be confusing, looking back.  Typing in this suit that insists on being too short in the sleeves, a (happy) reminder perhaps of your poor negotiation skills.  And of the road.  Always the road.  As a means of disappearance/avoidance/etc.  Similar to your use of liquor as an intoxicating substance.  Even amidst the so-called searching and fearless moral inventory, it would be difficult to give either up as a tonic.  At least with what's upcoming there's is the opportunity for a trade...  Can only wait and see how that chronicle of partial rehabilitation holds...

When disaster strikes...

Well... 

Successful day on the 17th, not so much the day after.  It started well enough.  Clearly the practicing got taken to extremes, and a whole host of bad choices led to where it inevitably did.  Why oh why did you opt for that last Guinness?  Why oh why did the young kids have to sit down where they did?  Why oh why did you leave your bag unattended at the gate?   

A wake-up call?  Maybe.  Embarrassing not even really the right word, some shame and guilt and unwilling to accept things.  On a downward spiral to a point that has only one end.  I have this aching whole in my heart and I just want to crawl away and hide.  The idea of the bus is a good one.  Too bad about the train, but maybe the road, metaphorically, will be good.

There are consequences, it seems.  How did it almost become a "physical" confrontation?  That part I do not remember.  In no rush to head back there.  How terribly sad a state to put yourself in, how inexplicable as well.  Just beyond what is proper.

I think it means a re-evaluation.  You will kill yourself if you keep this up, and that is not necessarily an exaggeration.  It is time to get things in order. 

Sort it out, and such.

Deju Vu, or the Great Escape?

Some good titles by Mo Kenney, for a toast a few minutes into the favourite day of the year.  Take my bad luck and turn it into good luck....  la da-da da da-da...

In Moncton, and shortly on a flight to Toronto, and Ceili Cottage, and on.  Time for the Guinness clock to get ready to slow time down.  The excuse being a trip to the embassy to get the Visa to Varanasi and the Taj.  To see the world and all that.  To shake loose the bonds of obligations and such and...

How fun was watching the last bit of that Winnipeg Jets and Toronto Maple Leafs game tonight with Dad, hoping for the tie.  The haplessness of it, Byfuglien and Brian Little and Round 10 of the shoot-out.  Only to see Syracuse blow a 16 point lead as badly as has ever been done.  But all in good fun.  A lucky/unlucky start, although at least you got the money back with the Lobos.

What to expect from tomorrow/today, I know not.  Another memorable one.  Stories, quotes, staring into the eyes of favorites old and new... for what purpose and to what end, who knows?  To trade stories with strangers and dance and listen and softly softly waste away the time with Guinness and oysters and the rest.  Make it a very long day.  The best of days.  A little bit of wine as befitting nostalgic days of wine and roses. 

But from here on in, it's black.  Smile.  Yet another of that favourite 24 hour annual span within the 8760.  Special.  Let's see what happens...

The Whole Bloody Point

Barca tonight with the comeback at home: 4-0 nil over Milan, no real surprise with the quality of Messi.  As we await the final day of the round of 16, is there one more improbable remontada tomorrow?  Arsenal backs against the wall, no Wilshere or Sczceney, no expectations, a few key players missing and so a shake-up of the team, old timers with something to prove...  why not just go out and do it then?  A dream, surely.  But of course it's a dream.  That's the whole bloody point. 

And por que no?  Crazier things, and there's always that sliver of a chance...  Believe, and see what may come.  Bring back the 1-4 win, says the 'holic, after a marvelous historical post about his trip into communist Germany back in the seventies...  No difficulty in deferring the Taj if I can get a little taste of such real-time, unexpected magic. 

Either way, April cannot arrive soon enough.  The tedium of the procedural arbitration issues involved in document production, the test to see how off the rails things go tomorrow, and beyond.  It is tiring, fighting both the bewilderedly righteous client and the stubborn other side.  That combined with a strange personal funk that cannot be shaken.  A lethargy ("state of extreme torpor"), languid, a terrible lassitude, listlessness... perhaps just a general depression/indifference at things that must be done.  In need of energy, of a spark, a spring, something.  In she walks into a deserted office, and ... torn in any number of ways ... yet.

Somehow I need to escape this fog.  Embrace things - everything - with zest.  Tackle even the chores (administrative etc.) with a true sense of purpose.  Whether encited for change by Arsenal or otherwise, let's initiate it before the sunrises at Benares, or the first taste of fresh sea air onboard the SC, or even the joy of the many St. Patrick's pints amidst friends and strangers.  Those future moments of awe will be easy.  Wake up tomorrow, okay.  Wake up now.  Wake up wake up wake up.  Every day is another opportunity to turn it all around.

It is put in writing this time, so it is different.  Open your eyes.

"I put my bra on for you..."

Strange, tired days.  Through the hated month of February and into dreary March, which holds at least the promise of the 17th in eleven short days.  Suffering through the habitual stress pre-trip, combined with the uncertainty over a Visa, and current clients, and otherwise.  Waiting for some things to wrap up and others to progress...  Waiting for April and the start of another notable pilgrimage...  And waiting for summer, essentially, and some inspiration for the next fresh new idea.  

A nostalgic time of year, perhaps, spurred on by a Saturday night dinner party with young children asleep upstairs, by (another) random trip to the darkness of the worst of clubs in search of... something, by Monday night Fireside egglant and Tommy's Uncles and remembrances of stories past with CM - from Waldron to Barrington, how funny the story of Pavarotti, and the service elevator and the broken nose...  ah, what you remember, what is memorable.  And stories of travel and the harsh finality and suddenness of death, washed down by 9.5% Belgian trappist beer, followed by a boat ride across the cold Harbour and familiar demons.

I don't know.  Off to talk about RFP and PPAs and the like up at the old school, and then a White Wine Wednesday that feels more like just another task than anything.  Still awaiting possibilities for manana evening back at the old Palace, whether you'll hear word from either LC or AM/J tonight...  and presto, that fateful sound means it looks like chinn.  And so the make-shift pub crawl on Friday?  No, because presto again with another text on that front!  Ah randomness.  Maybe a trip home early instead?  Most likely.  Home for a rest?

UPDATE: Turns out not to be bad... could have stayed on for more white wine and cheese surely, but escape plans are for the best.  Ah, the lies, of ferries and such.  As the dream of India awaits.  All about making the effort.  I'll try and remember you there, Ms. ZS Odei.  And others sadly lost.  It is, truly, later than we think.  And so.

FURTHER UPDATE: What is with this upper back/spinal pain?  Where did it come from last night?  Truly bizarre.  Oh well.  In other news related to the above, LC managed to make "arrangements" so I look forward to the Ghetto and stories of a very random journey...  and the on-again/off-again two-person pub crawl is still up in the air and may yet be done tomorrow.  With donair and hot-tub in the middle of it, that's the question.  Hehe.  4 in 4, and then to Moncton?  Sounds right.  As it says at the top: strange, tired days.