It's a beautiful day, the type that used to be highly associated with family. I in turn walk down Roncy alone, with nothing to look forward to, except another trip to grocery store before 7. I think that the past month has been a time of recharging batteries, and it's slowly taking shape in my memory. The first two weeks off are a blur. I remember nothing specific of the first week, but the second was when D came over. I knew she was planning on spending the night that time, so I had a reason to get my spring cleaning done.

My place at the end of April was uncomfortably untidy, but that was because of how hectic and rundown I'd felt through March and April. Hell, the winter knocked me out really. I'd begun my job in September an eager Nine to Fiver, but by January my heat wasn't working properly and I'd been cold, too cold to get up early, and by the time the job ended, I'd been doing Nine-Thirty to Five-Thirty. Now, I sleep until Ten Thirty or later.

D came over, spent the night and took off to London. I packed a bag and took off for a weekend in New Brunswick. I found out that I had a great great grandfather who fought in the American Civil War and despite my theoretcical anti-war position felt that was cool. In part because it was a story that has been filmed, but also the surprise to know that it's my genetic background, although I very much doubt I have much of a DNA connection with these Maine potato farmers.

So I returned from New Brunswick and everythingw as over. D was gone for who knows how long, this curios story about my grandmother had come to a point of resolution, my appartment was clean. An element of sadness at the recognition of complete things. Now what? Now what indeed.

Two weeks later, and I spent a week backing up my computer's files. Two weekends without socializing. A beautiful Saturday and I'm out of coffee cream, so what do I do? Bike up to Bloor St to go to Tim Hortons. I browse in Book City, BMV, and _____ thing on Spadina. On leaving my front tire needed air. A friendly fellow from the building told me where to get some, so I get over there for that before biking up Sorauren ... And this is all to say, it's typical. The weather calls forth friendliness & family. I am alone. The musty smell of a used book store in early June is familar, and part of the pattern of how my life is lived. And that's what I'm curious about at the moment, this worn grove of life - the aloness, the visits to book stores, the writing of it afterward.