So....here I am almost 9 months later in Victoria, in the tiny bedroom in the hostel. I met a nice man the other day, and helped him look for blundstones. (You know, those nice aussie boots). He seemed really sweet, and said he wanted to go to Tofino to the hotsprings. I said "Well. Eddie, I'm going this coming Sunday, would you like a ride?"He was pretty happy about that, as he has no car. I took his number and promised to call so we could go for a coffee first-to make sure he wasn't a maniac. And for him to make sure I wasn't one. (Well, I suppose I am....).
Anyway, of course I throw his phone number out with my bank statement at the CIBC. I go back this morning on the slim chance the garbage was still in the little receptacle by the instant teller. I, wisely, I thought, asked the security guard to oversee the operation, so he wouldn't arrest me. Couldn't find it though. I feel badly that he'll be all excited to go, but I won't call. Dumb, dumb.
After searching for my lost slip of paper, I went running along the shoreline, stopped to stretch and came across someone else's lost, or discarded note. This one looked far more interesting. Note the words: Dire Survival. I hardly ever use those words in my notes. I can only imagine how exciting the rest of it was. Anyway...interesting, isn't it, how messages ebb and flow, come to light and hide from sight.
I love it. It feels like being part of a universal swap. "Now, everyone hand one piece of paper to the person on their immediate right!" :) Thanks Cheryl.
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