Welp. Forgot that everyone was going camping for the Labour Day long weekend, and now things are all topsy-turvey. Not only do I not have the keys for my new place, I also do not have an address or any way of contacting Fran. Nor do I know if it's even ok for me to move in, given that the bathroom is being frantically renovated. Shoulda probably planned this one out with a little more foresight.
The last few days have been a blur of eating in tired-looking restaurants and driving over endless miles of highway. We picked the most bear-infested stretch of road to camp out overnight, near a heli-skiing resort on the Stuart Cassiar. Oddly, though, we never had a problem with any nocturnal visitors of the ursine variety. Instead, mice decided to invade, creeping up to the tent fly, worrying away at the zippers, and sitting nonchalantly in our shoes. After breaking camp, we spotted two more bears within a kilometer, so I guess mice weren't the worst problem to have.
Oh yeah. I also spent a day in The Fort, so MAN OH MAN DO I EVER HAVE HONEY. There is a glistening cardboard box in the back of my car, and of course, Joanne threw in a jar for her favorite redhead. So if I end up having to crash at your place for a few days, Ritch, I can pay you in sweet sugar. If that's cool.
Not to keep harping on the relationship stuff, but is it too early to tell you that I thought Myles was kind of lame? All of his Facebook posts were either ironic pop-culture rants or about Star Wars. If it is too early, then oh my god look at this hilarious little cartoon about horrible dogs!