Ode to everything lost.

I unknowingly killed my Ficus tree. Bugs, apparently. This fact bothers me incredibly because I have babied the shit out of that tree for months now. I mist it and compliment it and affirm it when it grows a new leaf. Everything dies sooner or later. I just wasn't ready for it to go. Spoken by a person who has never experienced true grief but rather felt it deeply in sad homes. Death is whole, I am learning very slowly. I guess death still feels like a very far away concept seeing as I haven't lost anyone in my family in a long, long while; nor have I ever lost a close friend. The other day while poaching the internet at the Fyxx I was having conversation with my friend Matt. For some reason the topic came up (which is strange because we are music and bike friends and that is what we talk about) and I asked him if his band the Magnificent Sevens would play at my funeral should I ever go quick. He agreed quick which was nice. Interestingly enough, I left that conversation satisfied that we had covered some good ground.

The body is sore again. How? Too much winter gardening. Bicycle/gardening. Winter riding has been lovely lately. The other day I was riding to Art City and my lock fell out of its usual spot in the waist of my jeans during rush hour on Memorial. The retrieval was a bit chaotic because I had to leave my bike on a busy sidewalk (sans lock, obviously) and run into traffic to pick it up on the dotted line. I got it eventually, all the while keeping an eye on the guy keeping an eye on Jessica Alba. One of my biggest fears in life these days is losing that bicycle to some felon/turd who will turn around and spray paint it (poorly) ghetto gold (not the good kind). My only praying hope is that said felon/turd won't know how to ride it/will bail while attempting to ride it and I will save her on foot. I have done it before and I will do it again. Some turd kid tried to steal my bike in front of Pear a few years ago and I happened to notice while he was riding away and I bolted after him (in heeled boots) and ripped him off my shitty single speed in the middle of River and Osborne. Some hockey team leaving Second Cup noticed what was happening and they beat the shit out of him behind Subway for me. I felt pretty victorious that day, not going to lie. Anyway, the thought of losing my lady in the battle of bike theft makes me want to weep. I would grieve her.

It is the new year. January in Manitoba winters can be a little dark. Thankfully, it feels pretty good so far. I firmly believe that the mentality one is in during the turn sets the tone for the entire year. In my humble experience at least. 2008 was terrifying and ugly. 2009 was relaxed and adventurous. 2010 has been exciting and a little wild (the good kind). Well maybe it is not a direct influence, but indirect. Either way, the Wind that I wrote to a few weeks ago has definitely been keeping me busy.

Time to get my hur cut by Lisa Flirty King. They didn't call me Mr. Mugs in elementary school for nothing. I fully look like a sheep dog. I hate dogs because of fucking Mr. Mugs, by the way.