The first week of August I was in Canada, woke up early and drank coffee in the garden for hours, Toronto's streets aren't number but I knew where I was going- North, South, East, West. Wrote my answer to the question 'what would you tell to a past you?' as 'don't be so dependent on being independent' sitting in the same living room that years ago in I needed it the most. In Montreal the hours melted away and I didn't pay attention to where I was or where I was going, and didn't have to, nothing was written in english anyway. Kept having dreams vaguely about the girls that I was staying with and vice versa. The overnight buses that I took from place to place were the same as always- sad for hours and hours but I know I book them on purpose. My home is very familiar and lonely- it really does feel like home to me fully now, this city. Read books for most hours of the day/night. Watched one dawn as the streetlights clicked off down the street one by one, every minute. Thought about how I don't know what concrete is made of and how heavy it is to transport. Covered the horizontal surfaces of my bedroom in mirrors and rectangles of glass. Trying so much to be able to shake the constant feeling that I'm wasting my life when I know it's not true. I have no idea what I'm doing.