hotel raze the man pushing a room service cart through the halls of this hotel isn't a man at all. he's a hologram. random. that's his name. he's designed to offer food and useful information. he has nothing much to say to me. i follow him into the kitchen of the suite i'm staying in. "if you're domed in and creating sunlight, this is easy," he says. i'd shake him by the shoulders and ask him what the hell he means, but my fingers would only close around dust too fine to be felt. 240429 ... epitome of incomprehensibility I stayed in one last night. The trip from Dorval to Arden was arduous, and the trip back looked to be the same (partly because my mother and brother wanted to go to Swiss Chalet, a restaurant chain that isn't in Quebec anymore, so that meant staying two extra hours in Brockville). Anyway. No one had a Specific Scheduled Thing until the next evening, so we all piled into one room in what called itself a country inn in Morrisburg. Good: rest, a shower, comfortable beds, convenient closeness to the continuing road. But I grumbled after hearing they only had free breakfasts in the summer. Little free breakfasts should not disappear when the seasons change. This is the hill my tummy will grumble on. I kept waking up at night, but at least I slept, dreaming some dream_conversations where people were a little nonsensical but kept their personalities intact. Oh oh oh. Before that turning in, I walked down the hall and heard what I thought was an echo of the TV in our room, the one Mom had turned on. "I didn't know it was so loud," I thought, but then realized it was coming from another room. And then another. At least three people in the McIntosh Country Inn and Conference Centre were listening to The National discuss how the U.S. was banning some Canadian goods and what this would do. National news if 80% of Canadians agree on something, on pushing trade to the table. They don't even agree what time it is, like pumpkin spice season when grumpy suburban bumpkins plod padded hallways seeking breakfast news. Finding no complimentary croissants, the slightly spoiled sourdough non-starter surmises how trade winds will lessen people's desires to spend loot on tutoring. Mythologize: she is always generous and forever stingy, with sting-y toes due to an inbetweeny blister. It's the little things that irritize: she folds a Happy Periods pad without washing it yet, because where could she set it to dry where side eyes of family ties couldn't pry? But it's not very smelly since not very bloody because her menstrual_speed was set to "bleed almost everything on day 1" and so she doesn't so much regret being eco-friendly except in the case of liquids that could potentially enter her body, that is, Earl Grey tea existing only in a Nespresso-type pod. Avoid plastic waste. Waste words instead. They go straight to your waist and right to your head. 260909 what's it to you? who go blather from