I took it as an omen when we crossed the border and the guy at Customs was named Hartley.
It's a small small town and no one under thirty lives here once they get out of high school if they can help it (like not getting pregnant).
I'm here. A half horse town with a pretty great weekly paper.
It's amazing - after weeks of my journal languishing because I had nothing to say, here I am with tons of news.
This town is so odd, being on the border as it is. You can drive on the same road and be in one place in one direction and another going in the opposite.
It's stinking hot here. I hate that part. It's ridiculous. I sweat all the time. I drink water, juice, eat popsicles, put my feet in tubs of hot water in attempt to cool off... nothing.
Plus, the little old lady who runs the place where I'm staying is a mother hen. I need my space, and at least I have a separate entrance, though she locks me out of the bathroom occasionally, but still. She feeds me heavy hot food and it's 32 or 33 degrees Celsius (I'm metric, sorry. I could give it in Kelvins...) and then she wonders why I eat so little. Too hot! I miss the ocean. I miss the river. I miss the fog. I miss complaining about how cold and miserable it is. And it's supposed to cold and miserable. I like cold and miserable. It's better than living in... L'enfer. (I'm not French, but the expressions are fun. I don't know what that is in Latin, sorry.)
The paper is a lot of fun and it's like living in a sitcom. There's the kooky secretary from across the hall who always drops in to rant and steal coffee, and the boss, who's not like the boss at all. Then there's the proofreader, smokes like a chimney, obsessed with the dictionary. Then there's the production guy who never misses an oppurtunity to be border line vulgar with dirty jokes, plus the cute lady who holds up the entire office amongst other drop-in characters. And me, the new girl. The new person, as cubbyhole said until we ran into the problem of the other new person (she's only one day a week and isn't a journalist. office staff) So now it has my name. Which isn't half as funny.
Unless you think my name is funny.
Which it isn't, since it doesn't rhyme with pee.
The area is really pretty - mountains, which is not something I'm used to. And there aren't any bugs, which is cool. I don't miss the mosquitos one bit.
It's horrible... I've had so much to say... I've written snail mail to friends all over, just to say hello and tell a little about the area.
Oh. I went for a couple of bike rides. The problem is I already find it too hot. Ick. And the mother hen questions my spending more than ten minutes in the bathroom (I had to soak my feet) and makes me submit to the whims of schedule of her guests, despite the fact that I have places to go and people to see... a JOB!
Right.
The job. I had my first front page story already about a lying corporation and the poor harmless townspeople. Classic. A good clip for the job hunt (I can't believe I graduate in less than a year now)
Oh I have to steal my internet on the sly. I'm here after hours with my key and security code... it's stinking hot. We need air conditioning.
I got to explore today (got lost on a dirt road - they drive really fast on gravel here, except for the Americans, who regularly drive 30 km (Metric, again. Imagine, my being Canadian and all and I can't figure out miles) under the speed limit, trapping Canadians with lunches with mother hens to be on time for (apparently she's called the boss in the middle of the night searching for previous students)
I think this will be okay for the summer. And I'll remember that my legal guardian said that I can come home whenever I want. So great of her to sanction my quitting. But I like the paper too much to quit. Despite having to figure out weird small town politics and there being no movie theatre when there are so many movies I'm desperate to see. :(
Plus, my aunt is nearby to rescue me in case of need.
Phew. Though it's just as hot there.
© lily keller 2001
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