fuck FUCK fuuuuuuck FUCK FUCK FUCK. Fucking coats, man. When I move to Canada, will I be handed a Canada Goose Kensington Parka at the border? Is that how it works? Because I can’t afford this beautiful fabric, white duck and coyote fur hooded-stitched together, modern and flatter-fitting piece of shit coat. BUTT FLAPS. I’m all like, come on guys. My fragile Pittsburgh bones are going to freeze and crack in half and I’m going to die. Do you really want that on your conscience, CANADA? Who do I call about this?
In about 9 months I’ll be driving from Ottawa to Vancouver with my stupid little Canadian/the love of my life. To say I’m ‘excited’ couldn’t be more of an understatement. Finally get to see Montana. Finally get to see Banff. Finally get to see Vancouver/Washington State/Oregon. I’m going to become best friends with a mountain goat and tell him all of my secrets. I’m going to swim in every lake I see and sleep under the stars. I’ve just got to get out of here. I’m not, so much, speaking in terms of physical location because I love and will always adore Pittsburgh. It’s more internal, I guess. Things are very strange and people don’t look each other in the eyes anymore. Technology is slowly chipping away at me and if I don’t knock this shit off, I’m going to disappear. I’m ready to disappear, just not like that. Not in plain sight.