I just slipped the Tragically Hip’s Trouble at the Henhouse album into the CD player. Some songs on this album, particularly “Flamenco”, have the uncanny ability to hypnotize me into a ethereal state that I will never be able to describe. It’s a realm where the emotions I feel and the thoughts I think aren’t quite recognizable to me. I’ve never been a hugely devoted Hip fan, but I do appreciate some of their albums and, of all the work they’ve done, this one stuck.

Been in a distracted, pensive state of mind this weekend. Past issues have resurfaced - nothing that needs to be resolved or reconsidered - but the dreams of my ol’ cat Beebers, who died when he was nearly sixteen, have triggered and resurfaced some memories and thoughts that have slumbered deep within my subconcious for a long time, especially related to my childhood. I suppose the thoughts of Beebers, which stem from back when I was a mere nine years old, led me to open this Pandora’s box of old situations, feelings and questions.

I spent the afternoon at my grand-parents’ home in Aylmer. As I sat on the floor in a patch of warm sunlight, I suddenly remembered what it felt like to be a kid of, say, seven or eight years old. I mean I truly remembered what I was like, I remembered what my personality and disposition were like. I remembered oddly irrelevant memories of walking towards the bus stop, of making a lunch, of skipping rope, of playing marbles, the feeling of my feet in those soft one-piece pyjamas after a night-time bath, colouring a blank drawing, playing dolls with Manon, interacting with other children, and teachers, and adults. I truly felt the essense of myself as a child, and I felt struck by a contradictory feeling of pleasure and pain. At that moment, I felt that the adult version of myself was just a mere shadow of the child I used to be. I truly mourned my childhood when I turned 11 or 12; I felt that I was growing and my mind was expanding and wondering about new things that I hadn’t considered before, and I resented it. I got over it, of course, but my childhood is certainly something that will always be a part of me.

My weekend has been a quiet one. Fell asleep at 7:30 p.m. on Friday night for what was suppose to be a quick nap, but turned out to be for the night. I woke up at 1 a.m. and read for half an hour (I’ve picked up the Pullman novel again since mid-term time is over), but drifted off again and woke up near 9 a.m. I am not accustomed to sleeping such long hours, but I have been exhausted lately and it felt damn good. And the following day, I finally picked up Chris’ surprise gift: a painting that I commissioned for him by artist Derek Quinlan. It is based on a close-up shot of a BMW 1979 motorcycle, with the reflection of the photographer and sky in the bike’s shiny black body. I will try and take a photograph of it soon and post it on the blog. Derek will also have a web site up and running in a week’s time, which will showcase a lot more of his work. I will post the link as soon as the site is functional.

Anyway, we walked along the canal, which we have yet to skate on. We just link arms and try not to slip in our sneakers as we walk along the ice for a good forty-five minutes from his place to downtown Ottawa. We had a late lunch at Indochine (one of Ottawa’s best Vietnamese restaurants in my opinion) and then stopped to look at cellphones. Unfortunately Chris wasn’t feeling too hot so we cut the shopping short and rushed back to his place, where he passed out cold - only to wake up a few hours later with a small fever and a stomach ache. After cooling his forehead with a cold wet towel, we walked up to the video store and had a very quiet evening of a movie and lounging around. I don’t mind this at all, but I do find myself longing for warmer weather as time goes by. Thank god it is nearly March, which means that it’s on its way.

Now listening to Daniel Bélanger’s “Quatre saisons dans le désordre” album, and it’s making me sleepy… Should get to bed anyhow. Tomorrow is Heritage Day and I’ll be attending after all(resignation 1, indignation 0). “Le monde est imparfait… Imparfait!”