These are on our good days. And there are many. There are many of the other kind too. The kind of day where I can't bring myself to open a book, pick up a pencil, scour the meagre help wanted or when I am feeling too fat to make onion and herb sour dough fry bread. After stumbling through meaningless internet sites, flicking alternately through my friend's pages and my own, hitting my stat counter and updating fb, after hitting the cbc commentary a zillion times I often find myself on mls; the real estate property search engine.
Obliged for its gift of promise, I revisit my 'favourites' that I keep hostage in my top right corner, I take them out to gleam and glean and dream, I take them out to hypothesis and speculate. My little dreamboats of broken houses and barren lands, north facing, east facing, dilapidated workshops and greenhouses, boasting mountain views and crackling creeks. Sitting on the living room floor of our rented trailer home, cushioned by the pumpkin coloured wall to wall ply, I imagine a beautiful life with birds and goats and donkeys and bees, All this immediately and for free with a click of my computer key. It's my fix my mania, my addiction, my need, my inclination, my habit. It gives me all the hope I need.