Trying to quit is hitting me harder than I thought it would. I know I am not good conversation. I know I am irritable. I don’t know how to push through either. And this is only day one.

To add to it I feel constantly hungry and bored.

I am not sure how much I want to quit. I am not sure if this is worth the aggravation. I guess that is the nature of addiction though.

The music here is easier-going than in Alberta. The radio stations play more of a mix of styles; In Alberta, there was one station for hard rock, one for death metal, one for elevator music, one for country and so on. They were so specific, and they disdained to play something not in their genre. Here, everything is more relaxed, and they seem to feature more local bands, they don’t segregate the styles of the bands so much. Or maybe I just like the pace here, and it overflows into all the day to day minutiae.

Rolled around by my dreams last night, can’t shake the feeling these dreams will be with me all day, watching me from the shadows. My dreams always linger, sometimes for days. It’s like some unwritten fantasy novel plays itself out in my head, complete with elaborate costumes, magic, and lots of people and families, all connected in ways I can’t precisely define. It would make a good book, if I could remember more than the vague outlines…

I keep expecting a bit of magic from my dreams to find me in this waking world, just behind a corner, just under a leaf curl, in an unexpected person’s startled face as I run unthinkingly into them. These feelings are always stronger after a series of colourful crazy expansive dreams; last night’s had a huge cast and many crazy adventures. They are not lucid dreams-I can’t control the action, but they sweep me completely away anyway, and what a ride it usually is.

Barely woken up today. It’s quiet and hot in the doldrums of late summer. A wind whispers through trees in the backyard, making the leaves talk to each other quietly. Perhaps they are unwinding the skein of my dreams and taking away all the disturbances of the night, turning them into raucous birds to set loose on unsuspecting hungry tourists.

And then the music starts up, and surreality fades into the industry of earning a living.

Clouds paint the sky grey and silver, causing a dreamy feeling to wash down over me, like the showers that hang in the air. But instead of enjoying the weather, I sit inside my blue and grey cube with none of the diffuse sunlight in sight.

I am missing having a full weekend off, Split days leave little time to do anything. With the exception of Sundays, one of us is always working, and of course on opposite schedules as well. I find that our days off get too packed with things, that we either get nothing done, or have a harder time finding a day to relax.

We finally made it to the beach last week. The salt air, cool waters and burning sand was revitalizing. Sail boats lined the horizon, and sunbathers line the sand. I forgot how salty the sea is. We came back, covered in sand and salt, and with a memory card full of photos.

To finish of the day at the beach, we had a Mediterranean inspired meal. Pork stuffed with Spinach, feta and pepper, Hummus and pita, Feta Spinach pastries. All finished with a lemon shisha. The meal was deceptively colourless. All pale and greys and yellows. But one bite into a pastry or patty, and the colour and flavour poured out. Vibrant greens and reds quickly took over the plate. as we savoured our patio meal.

From there we went down to the Inner Harbour to watch the Symphony play. They were set up on a barge, in front of the Legislative grounds. The night ended with Fireworks to the 1812 Overture. The music was great, but the fireworks were rather lack luster.

This week hasn’t been the best on our bikes, Kate’s gears shattered on her Wednesday afternoon. My rear tire is blown. Tomorrow we will have to try and patch together the bicycles. Hopefully it won’t be too difficult to repair.

I plunge into

frigid icy water

salty

bright with captured sun.

seaweed curls lasciviously

around my ankles as I wade

in the shallows.

I grasp a

handful of pirate treasure

culled from the bottom of the sea.

the sand onshore

is hot

and holds buried burning stones

lazy petrified driftwood logs

expired sea kelp.

The Pirate King and I

are dancing

between the water and the waves.