Today I woke up at 8:15 a.m. I said, "It's Sunday, nothing's open until noon, really." So I rolled over and shut my eyes again.
I had a dream I went home and walked into the bathroom only to find a loaf of Italian bread, a LIVING rainbow trout and some weird plant shit in the toilet of the bathroom.
When I asked MacTroll if he had been planning on making dinner. He said, "Yup, it's in there in the bucket so it will be fresh."
Then I asked if he'd kept a close eye on X-man all day long. He answered, "Of course!" And gave me that look that said, "I'm a great dad and stop giving me shit because you're a control freak."
Then he looked into the toilet.
"Oooohhhhh."
"I'm not touching that fish and the bread is ruined."
I woke up thinking that maybe deep dreamless sleep is the way to go. Then I opened my computer to check the time. 12:02 p.m.
For the first time in 2 years, I slept until noon.
I grabbed a quick shower and got my stuff together. I ran down the stairs and into the tunnels toward the metro. The weather forecast says rain all afternoon. So, I got my ass up to the Botanical Gardens and the Insectarium. I'm not a garden freak. In fact, I was fully expecting the usual crowd at places like this. You know the groups of old ladies in their sixties with funny hats. Or the senior citizen couples where the husbands walk together and the wives walk together. And, of course, the city youth in their 20's that have their parents visiting and need somewhere to take them that's not their tiny cramped city apartments.
I saw all of those people, but there were a lot of young families too. Most of them at the Insect museum watching the kids get grossed out by giant scorpions, beetles and hissing cockroaches. I was rather fond of a couple of the exhibits. I'll post the photos when I get back.
The garden is right next to the 1976 Olympic Stadium. My parents went to those Olympics when I was six months old. What I like best about where the stadium is located is that it's up on a hill, so you can look out and see all the little mountains in the Eastern Townships, which are an awesome place to vacation.
I did the gardens. Took some photos. Had a moment where I felt like I was being followed by this guy in his late 20's. I had my iPod on to drown out the two old New Yorker ladies that were bitching, bitching, bitching in front of me about their daughter in laws. And I wasn't sure what the deal was. I veered off into the deciduous area from the Japanese gardens he followed.
Then I saw a couple of women looking at a rock formation/art/structure. I stopped to read a sign near them. He stopped too. I took out my earbuds and read the sign in English. The last paragraph was ridiculously long with a list of maybe 20 animals that would live in the forest and I wasn't sure what the point was of listing all of them. Anyway, the guy stood six inches to my side reading the French while I read the English translation.
I waited for him to say something, anything. Instead, he just smiled sheepishly, and I continued on my way, alone. I have no idea what that was about. I sat down on a bench and started journaling. Something I hate to do -- funny for a girl with a blog, right?
Anyway, the breeze was blowing this awesome cool wind across my face on a perfectly sunny and 80 degree day. All the senior citizens had taken up the benches in the shade. And walking or sitting on the grass was strictly prohibited. So, I sat in the sun smelling the wind like a moron. I could smell it because I was sitting in the middle of the rose garden.
After a few minutes, I decided it wasn't quite the right place and I was hungry. You see, I couldn't get up enough balls to go out to dinner last night. So I cracked into the $9 Pringles (which really turned out to be $6, if that makes anyone feel better) and some old Ginger Ale I had purchased the night before. I ate that, watched Doctor Who, finished "An Arsonist's Guide to Homes in New England" and started "I Was Told There'd be Cake." Then I passed out around 10 p.m....
So, at 2 p.m., I found the garden restaurant. I successfully ordered my hamburger avec fromage and les tomates, helped myself to some pasta salad, poured my diet pepsi and grabbed a Nestle ice cream cone from the freezer. Then I settled down at a table. And I wrote and wrote and wrote... what has started as a nice intro to a brand new novel. The fact that I haven't written fiction since I was 5 months pregnant is a big thing for me. At 4:30, the breeze shifted and blew a napkin from my tray. I looked up and saw the impending dark gray sky.
So I packed up and booked down to the metro. Now, back in my hotel room, with my freshly made bed, I'm going to sit here and keep writing.
And the answer is -- No. I will never publish my stories. They're just for me, a solid place to put my imaginary friends, if you will.
That said, I don't think I'm afraid to eat in the restaurant tonight. Tableclothes be damned. Of course, there's a lot less people eating here on a Sunday. :-)
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