25

2002-06-28 - 2:11 a.m.

And folks really deserve more than that, but I am really exhausted. So, high lights:

-After the Point of No Return, Mike, still drunk, still hadn't quite accepted the fact that we were going to Ottawa. He asked -why- we were going to Ottawa, and someone said something about the "G8." "The G8?" He asked. "The 'Great Eight,'" she elaborated. "You guys are all in grade eight?" He asked, astounded. "I'm in grade eleven." Some heroic fella slipped him an allergy pill at a rest stop, and Mike fell asleep shortly thereafter.

-I sat alone on the bus, because it was not full like I had expected, which was good and bad, because with my luck I would have sat with Mike, and I don't deal well with drunk people on six hour bus rides when I'm sober.

-We arrived at the welcome centre around 2am, promptly fell asleep.

-I woke up the next day, and sat by myself for a few hours. One of the organisers stopped by and chatted. He found out I was alone and made a half-hearted attempt to set me up with someone else who was alone, except that person had already made friends, and so the both of them left me alone.

-Shortly thereafter, two other folks came by, and we chatted, introduced ourselves and huzzah! People whose names I remember!

-The first march was supposed to be a Direct Action Snake March. Direct Action means that there are a variety of action styles, from just gathering illegally to vandalism/mischief and provoking the police. A snake march is a march with no planned checkpoints, so as to keep the police off balance and from directing the march away from High Target areas.

It stormed, the march was Loooooooong and nothing more than a broken window. We even "politely" stopped short of storming the barricades at Parliment Hill.

-My feet broke. Blisters and pain. I've enjoyed Stephen King's "The Long Walk," until now. It's completely unrealistic. Those kids would have started getting shot earlier and none of 'em would have lasted longer than two days. Trust me on this.

-I went to sleep again, after hobbling home.

-I woke up. The girl who had been unfortunate enough to sleep next to me quietly informed me that at one point in the night I had started to cuddle with her. Yes, folks, The Magus is a cuddler. I have decided to not process the embarassment and to pretend it never happened and to never, ever, ever sleep anywhere other than my bed again. There is really nothing to say in a situation like that.

-Second March, which was meant to be peaceful. It was. And it was long. And it rained. And my feet hurt more.

-Then I came home, where my feet hurt. To a house filled with balloons taped to the ceiling. All over the ceiling. And presents from a sleeping Pookie, and guestbook entries, and a cat that seems starved for attention but is really just trying to con me into feeding it.

And beer in the fridge, coupled with the awareness that I have just experienced my first sober birthday in 5 years.

And, really, I cannot think of a better way to have spent a week at the start of the summer, when I am a quarter of a century old, feeling good about myself, feeling strong and (Gasp!) social, feeling tired, but the good kind of tired, and feeling sober. In more ways than one.

So, a heart-felt Cheers, all.

The Magus

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