Chapter Four: If you're lonely you can talk to me

Hey Bulldog!

What did people do for allergies before pills?

I need some new friends. Not to replace the ones I already have, mind you. I love my friends. It's just that sometimes you get those nights when there's nobody around, and that's going to happen but if I had new people to hang out with that would happen less. As it is I'm inside tonight, crying out to heaven for some company, considering an early bedtime watching a lukewarm repeat of Saturday Night Live.

Of course you know where I'm going with this. It seems fairly clear I've met everyone I'm going to meet in Oakville. I should leave this town, I should leave this town, I should leave. I'm too young to be stuck in my ways. It's another notch in the "move to Toronto" column.

So today. Not an unusual Saturday, although I was up two hours after getting to bed last night, at 4 AM to give the dog a little nosh, then four hours later to let him out, discovering that he had avoided crapping anywhere since before I went to bed. I was pleased with that, went back to sleep for a couple hours off and on, then got up to get coffee with Manda.

It was the usual, although I bought the Dr. Horrible DVD and Punch-Out, which is a fun game so far. We ran into Robyn and Liam toward the end of it, officially marking the first time a high school friend of mine has met a Sheridan friend.

I got home to find Max had yet to make any significant mess, which was interesting. Looking back, I feel weird about having quarantined him upstairs pretty much all day while I sat downstairs and procrastinated against mowing the lawn. I did the back, then badly did the front as the light was dying, late in the evening, around 9-10.

In lieu of Risk I've just been sitting back all evening. I let the dog come down, and he walked around a while and now he's curled up into a sleeping, shivery ball in the... hallway, I guess. I never gave a label to the area just outside the door to the basement apartment.

Where were you when this was me, every night? And where was I when you were crying? I guess we owed each other that much. I need something I can touch.

Is that poetry, or am I just rambling? I think I'll crack open a drink. After contemplation and meditation I feel like writing, finally, for once. The to-do list is getting backed up but it's manageable. What I intend to write next isn't on the list but I'll be glad to do it.

Here comes your man.

Keep on rockin'
-Scotto