generaljanuary: (organic coast)

(untitled as of yet because I'll probably add to it and edit it some more)

My destination is made of clouds
Mind at ease, lost somewhere between
What is comforting and what is unknown
Temporary feeling of freedom in a temporary home
Layers of blue skies upon layers of loose smiles

You don’t know me when I travel, baby
My soul changes with the scenery
The road swallows my sorrow
I tossed my baggage out the window
I’ve got an old, warm jacket
And memories of you folded in my breast pocket
Between my heart and a crushed pack of cigarettes

I wrote these lines in a moment of peace and almost-slumber, in a bus speeding towards the metropole.
My relationship with transportation is complex. I'm afraid on a canoe in a shallow river but never on a huge boat at sea.I am scared of cars, but not of planes. The metro makes my head spin, but only when I'm waiting to get in. I sometimes get short-breathed on city buses when drivers are going very fast or braking and turning sharply. But the getting there. Oh! The getting there!
A few years ago I was playing the trumpet in a marching band, we often had to travel small or big distances for concerts and parades. I was developing a very unhealty pattern of stress and feeling of failure in those fragile days, and just being on the bus, waiting to get to my destination was a refuge. Expectations and the reality of life outside of the bus melted away into the never-ending sky and scenery passing by through my square little window.
Alone on a quiet bus, in between cities, is like being suspended in time, pressing the pause button. You are no where, no one. Nothing can reach you so you have no choice but to reach intside yourself.

More on My Montreal Trip in my next post ;)
generaljanuary: (I Know)
*Huge Contented Yawn*

Back from the US. ^^ yay!

Mmh... I'm always sooo eager to leave on these trips and I always find myself missing home as soon as I arrive. meh.

So yeah, to get into details The 18 hours drive down was a total drag. I usually ADORE bus trips. I love being on a bus. It feels like time stops. stress just doesn't exist. But I don't know, I must've been PMS-ing or some crap because I was soooo bitchy and I kept snapping at poor Jessy.

Him: Say, Fannie, What time is it?
Me: *evil glare from hell* >-< Shut up you're getting on my nerves!!
Him: *cowers in fear*

^^;;;; So yeah, My irritation culminated when he fell asleep and took all the space and being a female, thus an uncomprehensible being, I cried silently for about half an hour in the dark of the bus. I guess it was the stress washing off of me in waves. The fear of not having a home when I get back. The fear of dad doing something stupid while I'm not there. The fear that my sister was not going to realise that dad shouldn' be home alone. The fear of being away from what Brian Molko calls "Comfort Creatures" which in my case would be more like "Comfort Objects". And I finally seem to understand the title to that Frech flick "Le Confort Des Objets". I still don't remember if I've watched it though... ^^;;;;. So yeah, after this pityful display of my disgustingly weak nature I was feeling a bit better but still bitchy. I don't like being surrounded by people. Especially when most of these people are idiots. And yeah, truth be told,I was already starting to feel alienated. I'm such an attention craving bitch. Jessy seemed to understand that I was craving for people to show they care because he fled to go sit with the teachers in front of the bus *sigh* I guess with the way I was acting I can't blame him. But yeah, it gave me some space to stretch my legs and I got some sleep, listening to my holy Placebo compilations.

Now let's rant about the effing Canadian/American border. No in fact let's not because I don't want to get angry. Let's just say that it sucks to be a Canadian in America. Because yeah, America unlike what most people seem to think, hasn't narrowed to the USA only because they are too damn lazy to find a real name to their country. You know what sucks even more than being a Canadian in America (as in the continent, you know, the right meaning of the name)? Being a French Canadian in America. Surrounded by stupid English Canadians and paranoid Americans. (Or should I say USans. Because yeah, it's gramatically incorrect but we do call you "États-Uniens" in our rage against your sudden owning of the whole continent, here in Quebec.) More of my political and historical rant later because I said I didn't want to get angry.

So Yeah, we cross the border with relatively no problem, after all we're only French-speaking Canadian retards, and get to VA. Once at the Hotel (the lovely Colonial Inn, if you care to know) we learn that our rooms aren't ready which sucks ugly dirty cocks since we've been sweating in the same clothes for almost 20 hours and we can't shower or change in other clothes or simply lie down and drop dead in a semi-fluffy bed. We have to hang around unting the bedrooms are ready. some whiny, picky, annoying bitches from my circle of friends Fate decided that I'd room with Marie-Hélène, Lisa and Josée, which throughly pleased me since I knew I could never have problem with them because we all are relatively peaceful, intelligent girls.

Even though it was cloudy we decided to visit the deserted beach so we rolled up our pants and stepped in the sand and smelled the salty air. It was really nice. Until it got even better. *grins* We decided to test the water with our bare feet. It was really cold but it felt so nice. We had so much fun. The waves were high and most of us got pretty soaked. We laughed a lot and took a lot of pictures. (Mine aren't developped yet and nyway my scanner is still being anal retentive.)

So Yeah here's the first part of my trip report. Just 'cuz i don't feel like typing it all right now XD.


generaljanuary: (Default)

September 2011

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