may 11, 2001. I'm a little worried that Spookshow is already at the comic book store in Halifax. We can only go on Saturday's, and if we don't find out in time, we'll have to wait 2 whole weeks to see it. Because, of course, we're going to Edmonton this Thursday and won't be around for the whole weekend. (Every time I get to this point in my fretting, all worry suddenly stops. We're! Going! To! Edmonton! Poet has exactly 8 more days to be single. It's all so exciting that a 2-week comic-book hiatus seems trivial in comparison. But of course I want to have my comic and eat it, too.) There is an echoing feeling about my life today. I'm not sad, exactly, just in a state of reverberation. It's not just that my house suddenly houses three fewer interesting & lovable adults than yesterday, although that's a big part of it. The problem is more widespread than that. Almost everyone I've been used to seeing in the last few months has disappeared to homes or jobs or other mysterious pursuits. Even Jerry & Keri left for St. Margaret's Bay yesterday; they're going to be two-thirds of the caretaking staff in a local lodge. This semester was a very social one; we started seeing people in all kinds of new & interesting contexts. It all peaked last week - new job, lots of time with Jerry & Keri, my family in the house - and I was too busy to notice that everyone else had quietly departed. Oh well. This is why we joined the church in the first place. Today I signed up for a livejournal account just so I could post haiku to Dav's page. I think I should just get "TOO MUCH FREE TIME" tattooed across my forehead; it would save bandwidth. It just goes to show: a little dedicated cable access is a dangerous thing. Especially in my case. (since I bothered to look it up in my Norton, here's the original) A little learning is a dangerous thing; Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring. There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, And drinking largely sobers us again. (Alexander Pope, "An Essay on Criticism," l. 215-8)