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 numbered 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 they were of me too. The overnight buses that I took from place to place were the same as always- nothing 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. 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. Covered the horizontal surfaces of my bedroom in mirrors and rectangles of glass.