the weird chick

Mila and Joel

August 5th, 2015


Teal-tinted green carpet lined by thin metal bars met with pale pink wallpaper, textured almost like corduroy, though not at all soft, almost like dried dripping paint. Watercolour strokes in softly saturated hues spackled the popcorn walls in geometric patterns, sitting in sharp contrast with the fluorescent tubes above. The suspended ceiling tiles were a subtle, pale aged yellow, stippled with grey. Beneath the buzzing of the industrial lights came the lower hum of laboured breaths, of whispers to ghosts, and of grumbled frustrations. The air contained an ever-present smell that could, with effort and prolonged exposure, be tolerated, but never accepted.

White-washed wicker furniture sparsely adorned the small room: two chairs and a table, a dresser, a twin-size bed, a bed-side table with a small lamp, and a bench for two, perhaps three if they’re small or very friendly. Cushions in a soft cantaloupe orange adorned with yellow triangles and green lines provided little comfort on the chairs and the bench, though they did match the curtains. A small, old tube TV sat on a white shelf, suspended somewhat haphazardly from the ceiling. With the cheap check-out aisle universal remote, the TV could switch from basic cable channel to basic cable channel at will.

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One Year Anniversary

July 20th, 2015


killbear15_02

A week ago, on July 14, 2015, the husbear and I had our first wedding anniversary. Crazy, I know. We’ve been together for four and a half years now, but saying “I’ve been married for over one year” is still so weird. I never planned on getting married, ever — actually, neither of us was interested in getting married, and we actually talked about it not too long after we started dating. I’m not exactly sure why we changed our minds — maybe it was the tax breaks, who knows? Regardless, a week ago we had our first anniversary, and we celebrated the same way we celebrated getting married in the first place: taking off for Canada’s Georgian Bay and going camping. My idea. Apparently I am supposed to stress that.

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