oui & winnipeg

word of the day. word to wed to a noun. word to wed to my finger. word to live for. oui. oui. oui.

---

three years. three! and still I wonder, where is my true home?

---

So the recurring theme of this blog has resurfaced once again, at it's usual, annual time: back and fourth from the land of talk to the land of plenty. How strange it is. How much we forget when we're gone for three hundred and sixty five days, give or take. & how many people and places you can somehow manage to fit into a week of time. Holy shit.

I blitzed through it from start to finish. blitzed! After weeks off from renovated restaurants I worked three shifts to my bone and then booked a flight to Manitoba. "I'll be there at 9:30 tomorrow morning," I told parents, glancing at time and preparing for a white night / nuit blanche of organizing and packing up a place that still feels new, making espresso and drinking it slowly through midnight, taking a 4:20 bus to the airport, 6 a.m. flight and touching down in the 204 less than 12 hours since buying a ticket.

And it didn't stop, thanks to the good times.

There is always that Winnipeg anticipation before boarding the plane: will I be forgotten/ignored, due to a stellar lack of social media? Will I run into someone crazy who will timewarp my brain? (Anyone is possible, really. I saw a girl at PMix who I haven't seen or thought about since the early aughts, when we were obviously both very different people - we actually gawked at each other while making odd conversation and I think I forgot to say goodbye and feel bad, though the chances of seeing her in the next five years are... what?) Will there be anything happening? What's changed? What's the same? Who's haunting my haunts?

And, most importantly I feel, is discovering what I was totally blind to while living in Manitoba. The details I ignored by total lack of context. What nuances I couldn't appreciate. Or the utter romance I couldn't see right in front of my face. This is what kills me each time and keeps me returning.

And because this is quickly going to turn into a Winnipeg diatribe far too long to warrant a brief, but engaging blog post, I will list these things:

> space: four lanes in each direction. a boulevard. a sidewalk. a front yard. space between houses and nothing on top of each other. Also, epic lack of balcony action - why? And no bike infrastructure - what the fuck? There's room. Everywhere.

> sky: each time I find myself staring at it, it's endlessness, it's movement. There was a thunderstorm I saw, miles and miles and miles away, with lightning. the sky is swallowing. it is totally therapeutic. I could look at that sky for hours. I did. It reminded me how small we all are, really.

> the significant bands of native women and girls, teens really, wandering streets. I completely forgot this. I suppose in some sick way their nomadic consistency was normalized to me. I wasn't so shook up then like I am now. I looked/listened more carefully this time, desperately and concentrated. Why are you going missing here in record numbers? What is it that makes you so prevalent to all kinds of abuse and sexism? .... I want them to be empowered. So, so badly. And I feel really fucking guilty and colonial for wanting this, for some unfathomable reason. I also feel helpless, not knowing what "to do" or how "to help." It's just totally fucked up. And, it's made me think about what I really, really want my work to be in this life.

> the donut hole: is where it's all happening. If I ever move back to Winnipeg, which would be a tall order, I would certainly live downtown or in the exchange; the crux of it all. wow yeah.

> potential lovers, but not really: why Winnipeg, why? Curses for throwing good-looking, totally interesting and highly fuckable people in my direction when I'm not even living in town anymore. It's really not nice, or fair, or funny. Timing is everything. I won't go into details, but fuck my (love) life.

---

There is something about Montreal though. You can't even compare them, but I'll keep trying,

more to come and photos I swear,

Lawrence