“change the towels in the bathroom” by Julia at the studio


Monday July 31, 2017
4:54pm
5 minutes
Amelia Bedelia
Peggy Parish


Mona in the bath tub on her knees, scrubbing.
Finds a collection of black mildew. Furrows
her already furrowed brow. She curses his
name under her breath, Fucking Dennis and your fucking
lack of purpose in this life except to make me
fucking miserable. She hasn’t washed herself in
a week. She’s protesting. Maybe one of these
nights Dennis won’t try to stick his dick in
when she’s asleep on the couch. He tells her his
mother is going to inspect the bathroom and Mona
laughs as if she cares. But here she is, in the tub,
on her knees, bleeding for a man who does not bleed
for anyone but himself. And his mother.

Later, the kitchen tile is spotless and the food
is on the table. Dennis lies and says he’s
been working hard all day.
At what?
Drinking. Complaining. Leaves out the only
parts that are true.
His mother pulls a sprig of rosemary out of her mouth
and spits into the tomatoes. Mona’s lips turn upward.
Dennis throws a chicken leg at Mona’s face.
I told you my mother hates rosemary.

“Life Lessons From 100-Year-Olds” by Sasha at her desk


Sunday July 30, 2017
11:15pm
5 minutes
Youtube

Fiona turns one hundred on a Sunday. She’s outlived most of the friends of her generation, but her three grandchildren come over for waffles and bacon. Fiona asks Sam to make her a stiff drink. He obliges. Fiona doesn’t dole out advice, or even speak about the good old days. She listens to her brood speaking words she has no idea the meaning of, and she adds more whipped cream to her waffle, a small smile on her lips.

“quite desperate to escape all the people” by Sasha on her balcony


Saturday July 29, 2017
1:10am
5 minutes
The Humans
Matt Haig


She wipes her finger across the desk and notices a layer of dust. Where does it come from? Summer makes everything sticky and it isn’t watermelon. It’s something else. The phone rings but she doesn’t answer it. She doesn’t even shower before bed anymore. She has white sheets. She gets under the covers with dirty feet, sweaty skin, makeup on.

“Life Lessons From 100-Year-Olds” by Julia at the studio


Sunday July 30, 2017
8:59pm
5 minutes
Youtube

1)Don’t go to bed with makeup on
2)Don’t go to bed with strangers
3)Don’t go to bed
4)Tell him how you feel
5)Tell her what you want
6)Listen to your body
7)Listen to her body
8)Be gentle with his body
9)find the joy
10)Give thanks
11)Visit your parents when you can
12)Write the date on your journals
13)Leave if you want to leave
14)If you want to stay, then really stay
15)Spend the money on quality items
16)Speak to children with respect
17)Watch a sunrise
18)Kiss in public
19)Refuse to let other people decide for you
20)Save yourself
21)Don’t save the red ones for last
22)Kiss your own body parts
23)Take initiative
24)Practice your cursive writing
25)Give thanks

“quite desperate to escape all the people” by Julia on her couch


Saturday July 29, 2017
12:39am
5 minutes
The Humans
Matt Haig


Melissa throws a party for her sister by accident. She doesn’t mean to be in charge but she’s the most capable and everyone knows it. She tries to stay out of it and offer mild help here and there but ends up running the show with a forced smile and a couple stollen tokes. I feel bad that she gets stuck with all the planning. All the dark stuff. All the alone. Her parents don’t call her to ask about her health. They don’t wonder how she’s doing after finding out she needs surgery. They don’t wonder how she’s doing after going through surgery. Instead she’s the reliable one. The one everyone calls when they need to complain. Or throw a baby shower. Or pick up her nieces from dance camp. Melissa tries to be sweet for her sister. For her sister who doesn’t even care about being at the party thrown in her honour.
When I finally manage to get her alone I ask her. Why are you running? Where do you plan on going? Do you need any help?
She laughs in my face and tells me I’m her funniest cousin.

“they couldn’t handle you?” by Sasha on her balcony


Friday July 28, 2017
9:15pm
5 minutes
Overheard on Kits beach

I often feel I’m not keeping up
the dust bunnies collect in the corners again
the kitchen floor needs scrubbing again
I explain the rules of writing dialogue to children
but meanwhile break them in the quiet of the solitude

In fifty six days I will be married
this is not an accomplishment
or a humble brag
it is a fact
plain and simple
like my Diva cup sitting in a teacup
of boiling water on the counter

I often look at pictures of women
either pregnant or with
small cinnamon bun children
I wonder what it will be
to roll dough between my hands
and sift genes in my womb
“God willing” I say

Almost husband
my sweetheart
you put a Persian rug on the balcony
you leave plaque on the mirror
you fold my underwear into perfect shapes
you hold me tender and rough

“God willing”

“they couldn’t handle you?” by Julia on Kits beach


Friday July 28, 2017
7:10pm
5 minutes
overheard on Kits beach

You walked into your new office right, you stroked your beard, you adjusted your belt, you waved at everyone? Right? You made your presence known? You held a baby ( I don’t know, Shelley from HR can never get a sitter, okay, she’s tired, you cooed at him, it was a good moment, everybody loves a pair of stylish suspenders holding an infant) and high fived the custodian? You walked all the way over to your boss’ desk and you put your foot up on it. You let him see you, right? You look him square in the eyes and unleash the most deadpan almost too-close-to-home joke and you wait, right?
Then…boom.

“The Movement project” by Sasha in her bed


Thursday July 27, 2017
12:39am
5 minutes
Sophie Spiridonoff’s artist statement

Clara decides to dance every day for one hundred days. She calls it “One Hundred Days of Dancing”. She posts videos of herself on Instagram. At first she isn’t sure why she’s doing it. She gets a phone call from her first follower (Martha), who says, “You need to shave you armpits, Clara.” Martha is Clara’s mother. After seven days, she has three hundred followers. They post words of encouragement and smiley faces and the dancing woman in a red dress emoji. Clara buys a red dress and dances in it and the video is overwhelmingly popular. Clara didn’t start dancing to become popular. She did it to heal a broken heart. Her mutt died and she forgot how to feel joy and then she remembered that dancing used to bring her joy, as a child.

“The wind streaked in from a thousand kilometers of Atlantic” by Sasha on her balcony


Wednesday July 26, 2017
9:18pm
5 minutes
The Enemy Stars
Poul Anderson


I’m riding the waves all the way out to the middle of the sea
I’m not as familliar with the Atlantic but it’s okay it’s okay
Marjorie wrote recipes on her fingertips and then pressed them into my back
A tattoo of butter
of mushrooms
of rain
I manage to hold on even though the wind’s picking up and
don’t be afraid of falling overboard
Don’t be afraid of the best of the worst
Marjorie made me a fried egg for breakfast the morning I left
crispy edges on whole wheat toast

“The Movement project” by Julia at the studio


Thursday July 27, 2017
8:34pm
5 minutes
Sophie Spiridonoff’s artist statement

It all started when I was shocked awake by own heartbeat.
Yeah yeah, you want to hear how that managed to happen, well
get in line. You don’t have to agree with or
understand it, even. It’s more about respect, if I were to
choose something.
I had the urge to talk about the body-the relationship we have
to our legs or to our finger tips; our ingrown hairs
I always get someone like you who guffaws
at the underbelly of emotion. You are not an original
critic. All you haters are the same-you hate yourself
the most. I don’t have hate for my body and you’ve
decided you no longer trust me. It’s not unusual at all,
but it makes a movement impossible.

“The wind streaked in from a thousand kilometers of Atlantic” by Julia on her couch


Wednesday July 26, 2017
8:58pm
5 minutes
The Enemy Stars
Poul Anderson


I wonder what the people on the Titanic thought when they were dying in the Atlantic. This catastrophe has been on my mind lately. Anytime I see the word Atlantic I think of how impossibly cold it must have been; how abrupt. I watched the movie recently. It was still a tear jerker twenty years later. But a lot of talk about the Unsinkable Ship this and the Unsinkable Ship that. I have a special connection to it due to being in the musical Titanic fourteen years ago. It’s where I learned the power of acting: of believing. We all stood on the set, the giant structure meant to simulate the three levels of the ship. During the opening number, us saying goodbye to our loved ones on shore, our director encouraged us to wave to the audience and envision us leaving for the maiden voyage. I waved to my dad, sitting in the fourth row, and he, without meaning to, waved back.

“Let’s do choices” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday July 25, 2017
11:01pm
5 minutes
The Home Depot ad

If I bought you a popsicle, I’d buy you a rocket. I’d hold it for you, so that as you ate it in the thick heat, none would drip onto your shirt. It’s white. That’s the real gift. I wouldn’t mind if my hands got sticky. I might not even wash them. I might save the stick until the night, when I’d spend a bit of time with them before crawling into bed. I’d have to wash my sheets, but it would be worth it.

“I’ll just call out the names and tell them to wait” by Sasha on her couch


Monday July 24, 2017
11:42pm
5 minutes
Overheard at the airport

A baby is screaming. I’m sympathetic, I really am. I know I’ll be her – that woman with white stains on her hoodie, a shrieking infant hanging off her – I know I’ll be her one day. I feel bad, I mean, everyone is trying to look supportive, but underneath they are cursing her, “Goddamn it, woman! Shut that baby up! Give it the bottle or the breast or a baby-sized dose of Gravol so it shuts UP!” The baby – cute, but not too cute – locks it’s little eyes on me. I’m on the other side of the plane, but it sees me and it stops screaming. Shit. Now it’s up to me to play peek-a-boo.

“Let’s do choices” by Julia at 1st and Columbia


Tuesday July 25, 2017
5:51pm
5 minutes
The Home Depot ad

Mom chooses her body over every body else’s, she knows now what hers wants and what it sings for. I watch Mom turn into a butterfly after working so hard for so many years. I watch Mom leave the upstairs bathroom unfinished and the downstairs windows taped with green table cloth instead of curtains. Mom doesn’t wish for nicer things anymore. Mom doesn’t choose cheese over cheer. She doesn’t choose them over her. Mom tastes freedom these days with every “Fuck” and “Shit”. She doesn’t like when we laugh but we are not laughing at her. Mom didn’t know she was funny until five minutes ago. Mom makes the choice to keep learning. To keep educating all of us. To keep trying when she’s told she can’t. To keep growing out of her skin when she feels like it. To keep pushing out, rising up.

“I’ll just call out the names and tell them to wait” by Julia at Pearson airport


Monday July 24, 2017
6:44pm
5 minutes
overheard at the airport

I asked the woman if I could have an aisle seat instead of the middle one they keep putting me on. Last time I got stuck between two giant men and their elbows locked me in while they slept. She told me it was full and likely not possible for me to switch. So in front of everyone I told her I have to go to the bathroom a lot. She didn’t care. Why would she, I didn’t go into details. I didn’t tell her that I
had explosive diarrhea because I don’t but maybe that would have made her feel something for me. I also could have said I’m a barfer but I am not that either. I feel like I let my sister down by saying I was going to declare IBS to get a better seat and then chickening out when the time came. I know this is not a big problem to have. At least I don’t actually have to shit everywhere.

“lick your thumb and go to town.” By Sasha on her balcony


Sunday July 23, 2017
8:01pm
5 minutes
The Four Hour Chef
Timothy Ferriss


I spend Sunday in the kitchen. Chopping and grating carrots and beets, roasting zucchini, washing lettuce. I make tahini dressing and pesto. I toast pumpkin seeds and almonds. I listen to NPR podcasts and learn about a disorder I never knew I had and suddenly everything comes into startling bright colour. The cabbage is luminous. The chickpeas buzz. I am more understood by these disembodied voices coming out of this box of sound than I’ve ever been understood before. I sink to the tile, the seat of my cut-offs most certainly stained by droplets of beet juice, and I listen, drinking deep.

“lick your thumb and go to town.” by Julia in Amanda’s bed


Sunday July 23, 2017
1:03am
5 minutes
The Four Hour Chef
Timothy Ferriss


He puts the Sunday sauce on the table and dunks his forefinger into the bubbling red without a second thought. He tastes it, likes it, gives it a stir. His mother would be proud. His ribs slide off the bone like melted butter. He did well to remember how she did that. Sunday sauce growing up was what they’d call it when they actually had time to prepare a meal with as much love as they’d like to put in. Sundays are for dinner and for church on the little television and for home made bread. Now he Sundays on Thursdays or Tuesdays depending on the week. He makes a Sunday sauce and thinks of when he was a boy. When he came to Canada in January and saw snow for the first time. When his whole family liked being together before the sickness and the problems and the open wounds began to fester.

“I abandoned their plan” by Sasha at the Diamond Centre


Saturday July 22, 2017
11:18am
5 minutes
The Chang Girls
Lan Samantha Chang


Even when we thought we were alone, we weren’t. I knew that he was there. I’ve never been one to believe in ghosts, but when the temperature changes that drastically without a gust of wind or anything? Well, there’s simply no denying it. Freema got this look in her eyes like there was something she had to tell me. I put the kettle on, because Daddy always said that tea helps when you’re spooked. Freema took my cue, and put dried peppermint leaves into the bottom of two mugs. “No honey for me please,” I said. It wasn’t a foreboding presence or anything. It was him – warm and rough, quiet and watchful.

“Trucker’s Haven” by Sasha on the 41


Friday July 21, 2017
5:43pm
5 minutes
From the sign at the 401 on ramp

Got my first job when I was fourteen, but I lied and said I was seventeen. I was an early bloomer, might as well get something for that shit. Trucker’s Haven, off the 2? You know it? The food’s nothing to write home about, just your basics like burgers and fish fingers, okay milkshakes. I could actually go for one of those milkshakes right about now… The thing that it’s really known for is the jukebox, at the front of the restaurant. Only Dolly Parton. I kid you not. I know every Dolly Parton song because of it. Made for some great nights of karaoke.

“blackberry bushes” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday July 20, 2017
12:13am
5 minutes
From an email

My sister and I pick blackberries on the land she just bought. I don’t know how many acres because I’m not good with that kind of thing. There’s forest, and river, and fields. It’s a farm, but I always think of animals when I think of a farm and there’s only a cat here. It’s so beautiful it makes my stomach ache. I instantly feel at home, walking the land and making fritattas in the oven. We pick jewel after jewel. One in our mouthes and one in an old goat yogurt container that we’ll bring back to the house for the others.

“A year ago, even six months ago, it would have been, but not now.” By Sasha on her couch


Wednesday July 19, 2017
11:49pm
5 minutes
Why I Write
George Orwell


A year ago, even six months ago, I wouldn’t have gotten involved in anything like that… but I rewound the tape of the answering machine about seventeen times. Jennie came into my room saying, “What is happening in here? Why do you keep rewinding – …” And then she heard what it said and she asked to hear it again, too.

I had a pretty decent life with Mom and Daddy. I did. I really did. But this little voice inside of me, that liked to dance between my heart and my throat, this little voice always wondered about my birth parents. When I’d ask Mom, she’d say, “We just don’t know, peanut,” and look disappointed.

“I abandoned their plan” by Julia in her old room


Saturday July 22, 2017
6:32pm
5 minutes
The Chang Girls
Lan Samantha Chang


K and D start laughing uncontrollably. They don’t even try to hush their loud the way young girls seem to know better than adult ones. I keep my face focussed on the blue-lined paper, the margins, the blank space. I steal a glance at them from the corner of my eye and remind myself we aren’t friends anymore and I don’t need to care. They can be talking or laughing about whatever they want and I don’t have to buckle into myself. D snorts her signature sign of enjoyment and K wipes the tears pooling under her cheap mascara. I ignore them. I don’t need them. Suddenly K comes over to me and snatches my notebook right from under my pretending. I scramble for it. I miss.
K throws my book to D and D snorts again. K blows me a kiss.

“Trucker’s Haven” by Julia in the car


Friday July 21, 2017
7:03pm
5 minutes
from the sign at the 401 on ramp

Wendy and Adele try and stuff their pot into the glove compartment before the state trooper gets to their car.
“Stay cool,” says Adele. “Stay so fucking cool, Wen.”
The dark sunglasses slide down his nose, aided by the tiny pools of sweat collecting on the bridge of it.
“License and registration.” he says, his want poking uncomfortable holes through Adele’s ribbed tank top.
She hands him the paper and pretends there’s a wad of gum in her mouth. She bites her tongue not to address how he is addressing her.

“blackberry bushes” by Julia in her old room


Thursday July 20, 2017
2:23am
5 minutes
from an email

People have been taking care of me my whole life. I was lucky. I got a good sister. One who sees me, needs me, shows up brings her friends, laughs at my jokes, heart beat frees me. And I got lucky still. With a good brother who calls me and carries me and picks me up at the airport and takes me to and from the beginning and to and from the end. And then I didn’t have to worry. Because my mother’s skin sings olive oil and resilience. And my father fries me up an egg with a zucchini flower and tops the plate with garden tomatoes and hugs me long and tight.

“A year ago, even six months ago, it would have been, but not now.” by Julia on Amanda’s tub


Wednesday July 19, 2017
11:31pm
5 minutes
Why I Write
George Orwell


I told a bunch of people I didn’t know that if someone asked me what the best thing about life is, I’d say getting older. I mean it. What else is there in this existence aside from growth and love and mistakes and love?
I know a lot of people agreed with me. If that same someone asked me a year ago I would not have said this. I wouldn’t have said a lot of things. In the time between figuring some shit out and sitting where I’m sitting, I have out grown so many beliefs. So many stories. So many past versions of myself. If someone asked me even six months ago I would say, I’m sorry, but I do not recognize my own reflection. I wouldn’t have been able to point out what’s true over what’s not.

I keep thanking my bones for speaking up. I keep asking if anyone who lives in my skin is tired or hungry. I keep listening to the answer when it changes and changes.

“see you again wherever and whenever” by Sasha at her desk


Tuesday July 18, 2017
10:23pm
5 minutes
From a text

Dr. Morrow says that when an attack’s coming on I should think about my “happy place.” I don’t know what the fuck that means, but what I do think about is the blue tiles in Mila’s bathroom, from when we were little and we were allowed to take baths together. I guess that means that’s my happy place? I dunno. Before long I’m shaking, and sweating, and losing my shit totally losing my shit. I try to speak, to yell, or something so that people might know that I might, like, die. I try to say, “See you again whenever and wherever, assholes…” but I can’t get the words out, like, they get all stuck and jumbled.

“I will complete them upon my return” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday July 17, 2017
11:17pm
5 minutes
From an email

I’m not sure how to tell you this
I’m not sure about much actually
I’m questioning all of my choices
my vices
my fears
so big so big
Oh
I’m not sure how to tell you this
When I get back I’m gonna head out
on my own for a while
Gotta find the rhythm of the grind again
Gotta find the direction of the sun again
I’m not sure how to tell you
that when I swam in those big waves
I saw
G-O-D
and it wasn’t in the shape of a
face or a torso
it was in the shapelessness of a
blue blue white aquamarine
movement

“see you again wherever and whenever” by Julia in her childhood room


Tuesday July 18, 2017
11:06pm
5 minutes
from a text

It doesn’t matter when the next time we hug is, the next time we laugh
nobody is counting
nobody cares
Sometimes we don’t plan the next time we hug or cry
It doesn’t matter when the next time is

After the baseball game he gave me his number and told me to call him any day but Wednesday. I asked why and he said, does it matter if you reach me on a Sunday or not? If the day we talk again is next week or next year?

“I will complete them upon my return” by Julia on bec’s balcony


Monday July 17, 2017
11:06pm
5 minutes
from an email

Laura sends an email to her co-workers telling them she’s going to be away on vacation next week. Laura’s going to stay at home all
day and eat nacho bugles until
it’s dark enough to put nacho bugles on ice cream. She already has the tan lines to make it believable. Laura doesn’t want an excuse to leave her house and talk to anybody. Maybe most people would rather go to the actual beach than pile up in their living room. She wears old yesterdays of herself.

“I’m superstitious” by Julia on bec’s balcony


Sunday July 16, 2017
2:19am
5 minutes
the Artist’s Way
Julia Cameron


Sarah won’t let me walk under the ladder.
She stops the street with her
loud.
I laugh.
I don’t care about anything like
this.
She cares.
She doesn’t need any more bad luck these days.
We don’t worry about stepping on cracks.
Our mothers’ backs are much too strong for that.
On the street we move into the wind slowly.
I have to remember to snail down to enjoy it.
My feet are always trying to take me somewhere quickly.
They might be showing off their stride.
I could stop more to take in all the alley mattresses left behind.
I could snap a photograph to keep a memory like that.
Sarah believes in a mustard yellow cozy that one day, if nothing else, I hope she gets in spades.
Sarah doesn’t ask for much.
But she deserves all the kitchen mugs on their tiny hooks.
And a little peace.

“I’m superstitious” by Sasha at her desk


Sunday July 16, 2017
6:10pm
5 minutes
The Artist’s Way
Julia Cameron


I’m not superstitious or anything but I mean, hit by lightning? In a place that hasn’t had rain in almost five months? I’m sorry… That’s some sort of sign. The doctors keep asking what I felt in that moment, when I was struck, and there’s aren’t words for it. A hot shower? A wild kiss? Shaving your head? I think I said all those things, but they don’t do it, they can’t explain. They say that once you’ve been hit you’re more likely to be hit again.

“My unexpressed anger at nothing in particular.” By Sasha on her couch


Saturday July 15, 2017
10:33pm
5 minutes
No one belongs here more than you
Miranda July


I make an appointment with the chaos
and then I’m late
and sweaty
and I have the lines from
an ill-fitting bicycle helmet
on my forehead
“It’s not a good look”
I whisper

I’m pregnant with a tadpole
and it’s little tad tail
hangs out of me sometimes

There’s a lot of unknowns
and I bought a postcard
that said
QUESTION AUTHORITY
and then I never did

When your body looks like mine
and when it swells and wanes
and waxes and bleeds and grows
and falls and gives and gives
Sometimes men pretend that
they are not looking
and sometimes they just
look like they are gulping
with their eyeballs
glug glug

“Stanley stepped carefully” by Sasha at work


Friday July 14, 2017
2:17pm
5 minutes
Holes
Louis Sacher


Stanley carefully stepped into the water. He wasn’t sure about any of this. When Uncle Jim had asked if he would like to come with them to the beach that weekend, instead of staying in the city, he hadn’t said yes. Babs, Stanley’s mother, had quickly chimed in, “He would love to!” Stanley knew that Babs wanted some time to herself, to take a bath, eat some salt and vinegar chips, maybe watch a rom com. He didn’t blame her. Moreover, Stanley knew that Jim was a good influence on him. Stanley had never swum in the ocean before, despite living four hours away. Babs was once violently stung by a jellyfish, so she had no interest in a beach vacation.

“My unexpressed anger at nothing in particular.” by Julia on Jessica’s air mattress


Saturday July 15, 2017
8:33am
5 minutes
No one belongs here more than you.
Miranda July


I throw my phone across the room, breaking the corner and exposing the LCD screen. I am now angry at myself for wrecking a thing I needed. I am always wrecking things I need.
I didn’t want to talk to him this morning in the first place but when he calls my heart double dutches just like it used to so I answer because I am a creature of habit and likely synchronicity.
I don’t know how I choose this terrible mood over all the other moods, but this is the one I’m wearing like a hazmat suit. It’s bulky and oversized and it knocks people over if it gets too close. I even use sarcasm when I can tell I have pierced him. I am nowhere close to okay with that.

“Stanley stepped carefully” by Julia on Jessica’s couch


Friday July 14, 2017
12:20am
5 minutes
from a syllabus

According to his older sister, Starla, stepping on a crack would break their mother’s back.
Stanley stepped carefully.
According to his mother, the only thing that would break her back was if he grew up and decided to be a dentist.
Stanley stepped carefully.
When Stanley was eight and half, he met a girl named Heather and told her he would marry her. She said no unless he learned how to dance first.
Stanley stepped carefully.

“Paragraphs of information” by Julia on Nicole’s balcony


Thursday July 13, 2017
12:15am
5 minutes
from a syllabus

Of course I didn’t ask for the ring with the gold flower when she died. I had wanted it since I was small enough to fit in her arms. But I got something better. When I spritzed her perfume in the bathroom I thought I was getting away with curiosity. Turns out my curiosity was too big to ignore. It was the first time she held me. She brought me out of the bathroom with love while I was embarrassed at being caught. Then she gave me the bottle of perfume I had tried on. Just gave it to me. You like it? Here, it’s yours. I cherished that bottle. I kept it in my closet. I didn’t know anything about her-there wasn’t a book about her, not paragraphs of information written about this woman. But I knew the smell of her young skin. I knew the size of her generosity. I knew the way her quiet was her prison. And how she wished she could have given me more.

“Way bigger than you think.” by Julia on B’s couch


Wednesday July 12, 2017
8:09am
5 minutes
A Ripley’s streetcar ad

A lot of the people here are drinking wine and nobody knows who is already drunk. The streets are packed with bodies brushing up against each other, eating grilled corn on the cob. You’d think it would be a small gathering with a couple vendors here and there selling spoon bracelets but it’s the whole neighborhood. Bonnie built her canopy out of old t-shirts-she saw a friend did that once but with a comforter instead of a tarp.

“Paragraphs of information” by Sasha on her bed


Thursday July 13, 2017
11:49pm
5 minutes
A syllabus

When Mara starts digging, it’s the hottest day of the year. She covers herself in SPF 40 and puts on her straw hat. It was a gift from her father for her fifteenth birthday. At the time she thought it was terrible, but now it’s one of her prized possessions. Not to mention it shields her fair, freckled skin from the ridiculous heat of July in the South. By the time Tabby gets home Mara has dug a hole the size of a coffin and it freaks Tabby out so much that she screams. It’s not about the recently landscaped garden. It’s Mara covered in dirt, seemingly burying herself alive.

“Way bigger than you think.” by Sasha on her bed


Wednesday July 12, 2017
10:01pm
5 minutes
A Ripley’s streetcar ad

When Maude pulls up she breathes a sigh of relief. It’s never felt so good to be home. It’s after midnight, so she imagines that Greg is asleep, curled up on his side as though she’s there. When Greg leaves, Maude sleeps like a starfish, taking up the whole bed. She also eats bowls of rice crispies for dinner and lets the dishes pile up. She wonders what Greg’s been eating… Eggs Benedict with homemade hollandaise, farmer’s market radishes on sourdough with salty butter, watermelon.

“it’s too much sugar” by Sasha on the 17


Tuesday July 11, 2017
4:46pm
5 minutes
Overheard in the ride share

Gemima says that sometimes she goes to Church and gets turned on hearing the pastor speak about Heaven and Hell and demons and Mother Mary. She always eats Reese’s before going to Church. There’s a ceremonial feeling to unwrapping the three cups, laying them out on the kitchen table. She even says a quick grace. Her father didn’t let them eat any candy growing up because he was convinced that his sister had gotten throat cancer from constantly sucking on peppermint candies.

“I’ll sing til morning” by Sasha in her bed


Monday July 10, 2017
11:32pm
5 minutes
Night, Mother
Marsha Norman


I’ll sing til morning I will I will
I’ll sing up high and I’ll sing so shrill
I’ll sing when the sun is high in the sky
I’ll sing my babe a lullaby
I was born to sing out loud and strong
I will sing all the right to all the wrong
And then sometimes we’ll sing together
Deep as the sea and light as a feather
When we sing we do it so free
that I become you and you become me
I’ll sing til morning I will I will

“it’s too much sugar” by Julia in the rideshare


Tuesday July 11, 2017
10:44am
5 minutes
overheard in the ride share

He pulls out a Kit Kat and starts offering it around. Everyone is saying no. I know I don’t trust him the moment I get into the van. He is complaining about his phone plan. He is loud and obnoxious. He is trying to flirt with the woman beside him who is being polite when he complains about his phone plan. I want the Kit Kat but I do not want to take anything from him. When my seatbelt lock gets stuck below the seat, I ask the driver to stop. The Kit Kat guy tells me we aren’t going to get into a crash and die or something. I say, then you can sit here. He says he would.
He offers his chocolate around again, appalled at the lack of positive response. I know I do not trust him. He says, don’t you know it’s rude to say no when someone offers you something?
And my skin tightens.

“I’ll sing til morning” by Julia on Khaleefa’s grandmother’s bed


Monday July 10, 2017
1:19am
5 minutes
Night, Mother
Marsha Norman


He says
I’ll love you forever
She says
forever doesn’t work for me
He says
I will always want you
She says
Always is a long time
He says
I’ll never leave you
She says
Never say never
She says
You can’t love me like this
He says
I need to
She says
you shouldn’t wait for me
He says
I will
She says
I won’t be able to return it
He says
I don’t need anything from you
She says
Then go
He says
But I love you
She says
I’m asking you
He says
Why won’t you let me hold you
She says
You don’t love me for me
He says
Isn’t this love
She says
haven’t you been listening

“Not even sure” overheard on 14th Ave by Julia on Bec’s couch


Sunday July 9, 2017
2:07am
5 minutes
overheard on 14th Ave

We haven’t talked since Maeve’s funeral. A bit strange, since we live together. We have been weaving in and out of the hallways to avoid our skin brushing. It helps that there are mirrors. You don’t know I’m watching but I know when to move. I don’t miss your voice and that’s also a bit strange. I thought I would but it turns out I’ve never known silence. Neither have you. My quiet is different than yours. Mine is settled. Yours sounds like bees, dying. Maybe if you didn’t kiss my sister while everyone else was burying my step mother. Maybe then yours would have sounded lighter.

“Not even sure” by Sasha on her balcony


Sunday July 9, 2017
7:13pm
5 minutes
Overheard on West 14th

Maggie makes a face at herself in the reflection of the window. It’s her third overnight shift in a row and she has that sandy feeling in her eyes. The intercom buzzes.

“Hello and welcome to Cupcakes on the Go, how can I serve you?”

“I need thirty six chocolate cupcakes, please, and one red velvet.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we only have – …” Maggie motions for Jamal to check the chocolate count.

“We only have three chocolate cupcakes left tonight.”

“But, but, I need thirty six, I need thirty six chocolate cupcakes and one red velvet.”

“The bakers won’t be in until five, sir. My apologies.”

“Do you have the red velvet?”

Jamal nods, but gives a look like he isn’t sure about this guy. Maybe he’s doing a prank. Maybe he’s going to shoot us with a water gun or something and film it and send it to one of those comedy websites.

“he finally asked me if I wanted these defects of character removed” by Sasha on her couch


Saturday July 8, 2017
12:51am
5 minutes
Alcoholics Anonymous

“He finally asked me if I wanted these defects of character removed and I said, ‘Yes, yes I do’. He looked me deep in the eye like there was something beyond, like there was gold inside me, and he said, ‘Okay, please follow me’. I followed him down a long hallway, the longest hallway I have ever walked. Finally, we got to a yellow door. ‘Open the door,’ he said and so I did. Inside was a big white room. A woman greeted us. ‘Would you like a glass of water, Alice?’ She asked. ‘Why, yes,’ I said, ‘I am parched.’ The man smiled. It was a smile that was neither here nor there but also where and who… That’s what I thought. That’s what I remember thinking. Saying it now I know it doesn’t make logical sense, but something about this place was not at all logical.”

“I didn’t want to wait in that line either” by Sasha at work


Friday July 7, 2017
12:55pm
5 minutes
Overheard at Vancouver international airport

Marylou is sure that the recycling bin needs to be on the curb by 7AM.
She drinks her smoothie (banana, coconut water, pineapple, some protein powder) and wonders if Derek is going to take it out or if she should. Again.
Marylou sees Earl across the street wheeling out his and Anne’s bin. He’s whistling. Marylou wonders what his bum looks like, under his khaki shorts.

“he finally asked me if I wanted these defects of character removed” by Julia on Bec’s Second City Chair


Saturday July 8, 2017
12:53am
5 minutes
Alcoholics Anonymous

He was already cutting parts of his own face off when he asked me.
Wanted to know if he should schedule me in.
What do you want to get rid of? What skin crease have you never liked. Which part of you wasn’t enough?
I saw him through the reflection and he looked focused. He was extracting from the root.
I later told him, over a salty coffee
(his sweet)
that I didn’t want to
give them up I said I wanted to wear them like reminders of all those times when,
hold out my hands and thank
the fucking universe that they look like my mother’s.

I held out the sparkling water for him to sip.
He had deserved it.

“Lipstick on your arsehole” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Thursday July 6, 2017
1:06am
5 minutes
Dry Lips Oughta Move To Kapuskasing
Tompaon Highway

Monkey keeps trying to put Bear’s liplip up her bum and Bear’s not havin’ any of that. She just got the lipstick at the Buck or Two and oh wild Willy Bear hates when me or Monkey touches her stuff. One time I was waiting for Bear to get home from work and Monkey was supposed to be napping but she wasn’t and we were going through Bear’s drawers and we found a new bathing suit in there one of those two pieces kinds and and and we took it out and we played with it putting it on our heads and stuff. Monkey tried to take off all her clothes and put it on but Bear came home and yelled and all the fun was over.

“I didn’t want to wait in that line either” by Julia on the plane


Friday July 7, 2017
6:25am
5 minutes
overheard at Vancouver international airport

Dear JT,

It’s almost time to say goodbye. We’ve all been awake since four in the morning on account of a sweaty sleep and a flight to catch. The bed has new sheets but you won’t feel them till next week. I slept without clothes and it was still an inferno. I am almost glad you weren’t there. of course I’d rather see you, and even now as I write this, I regret saying that. I think Emmett will be fine on trip-we got him one of those thingy spinnings? I don’t know what they’re called but I’m sure you’ve heard of them. They’re everywhere.

“Lipstick on your arsehole” by Julia at her desk


Thursday July 6, 2017
11:33pm
5 minutes
Dry Lips Oughta Move To Kapuskasing
Tompaon Highway

Tamara Matthews you better have a good reason why you’re late.
I do, but you definitely don’t want to hear it.
Sounds like an excuse to me.
Alright, my butthole was bleeding this morning and I wasn’t sure if I was going to die or what.
Oh.
Yes. So. It’s fine now thanks for asking. I’m not, as it turns out, dying. I just wiped too hard, you know?
Thank you. I get it.
I mean it’s happened to me before, but less. I thought this was a hemorrhoid which is no picnic because when my ex-boyfriend had one once, sitting down made him cry.
Okay, okay, go sign in.
Will do, sir. Will do.


“change of plans” by Sasha on her balcony


Wednesday July 5, 2017
8:22pm
5 minutes
From an email

“There’s been a change of plans,” says Marie. I take a deep breath, in through my nose and out through my mouth, just like Janice taught me. “Why are you sighing?” Marie whines.

I’m driving on the 401 and I have Marie on speakerphone. “I’m already halfway there,” I say.

“We are meeting the Richards in Kingston,” Marie sounds irritated. I don’t know why. I’m the one who should be irritated. I’m the one who is on course two of the Calming Body Calming Mind tapes. I’m the one who is taking meditation classes at the YWCA.

“Val?” Marie barks.

“I’m here, I’m here.” I say.

“I tried to call earlier, but your phone was off.”

“You could always leave a message. I do check my voicemail.” I pull over onto the shoulder, and pop my seat back so I’m completely horizontal.

“change of plans” by Julia on F’s couch


Wednesday July 5, 2017
9:23pm
5 minutes
From an email

Change of plans, I don’t love you anymore.
Pack the tiny cooler bag your aunt gave us before we rode our broken car all the way to Saskatoon.
Find yourself a couple of crackers
to eat on the way.
I wanted it to be you.
You are not the only one disappointed here.

Change of plans, I don’t love you anymore.
Take your collection of
play things
all the broken bobby pins
you didn’t ask to break
the pen lids, all twisted
into useless
the cloud of sugar lint
in your pants pockets.

“choosing sides” by Sasha on her balcony


Tuesday July 4, 2017
10:15pm
5 minutes
Walsh
Sharon Pollock

At the time I didn’t think I chose a side.
How could I,

but now,

twenty five years later,

(writing that makes me feel something wide)

I realize the tent of a womb
is never far from the heart of a daughter.

I’ve always believed myself to be

all fair

sense of right and wrong right on the
tip of my tongue
my spirit soaring fire and water
in equal measure.

Maybe it’s the confusion of a young
pup,

circling Mom’s legs

caught locked out

in a downpour.

“choosing sides” by Julia on her couch


Tuesday July 4, 2017
10:13pm
5 minutes
Walsh by Sharon Pollock

the man takes my photo and asks which parent I love more
I have to think about it
who would I say if I wasn’t saying it to get a good shot
mom or dad
I don’t wait when he asks me
twice
I say my dad
I say my mom
but of course
I smile them both
Wonder if I was supposed to mention that they are equally wonderful
that they have shaped me each
that my mom signed my report cards
and my dad taught me how to
throw a baseball

“I thought you had it” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Monday July 3, 2017
1:09am
5 minutes
Overheard on the 99

If you’re going to get upset, well, I don’t know Polly, I just don’t. I don’t know what to say… Just take a deep breath, would ya, no one’s dying.

Let’s retrace your steps… First you went to the market to get the eggs, right? And then down to the daycare to drop off Iris? Okay. And then what? Where’d you go next…

But by the time you got to the bank you said you lost the envelope with the deposit, Polly, so I’m a bit confused! We called the market and no one saw anything. They are good people there, they wouldn’t have taken it.

“I thought you had it” by Julia on the 99


Monday July 3, 2017
4:49pm
5 minutes
overheard on the 99

Kelsey can’t find her wallet for the third time today and the next person who walks through the door is going to hear about it. Loudly.
She’s late, as usual, and thinking of Type A Andrea who always tsk tsks tardiness as if she has zero human flaws. Maybe it’s not easy for everyone to be on time, Andrea. Maybe some of us are burying a deceased bunny rabbit or deciding to floss for the first time in a year!
Andrea never says anything to Kelsey but her disapproval is as present as that fucking mole next to her nose. Kelsey can tell when she’s misplacing things: money, keys, glasses, blame, when she starts digging at her own friends.Your mole is adorable, Andrea, everybody fucking knows that.

“songs of protest” by Sasha at her kitchen table


Sunday July 2, 2017
9:40pm
5 minutes
Singing in Dark Times-a Manual for Encoding Dissent
Bhaswati Ghosh


We sing Forever Young around the campfire and then it’s just you and me and even Orion is hiding and Mimi has gone to bed and the mosquitoes aren’t biting and you lean over and you tell me that you can’t stop thinking about my body my body my body body and I’m pulling away and the fire dies down and the cloud cover thickens and it’s too late to be out and Mimi is probably wondering where you are and tomorrow you’ll blame it on the beer you’ll forget you’ll see me at the waffle station batter spilling all over the place and you’ll say morning how’d you sleep what a night oh what a night

“high clouds no wind” by Sasha on her balcony


Saturday July 1, 2017
11:30pm
5 minutes
The Wayfinders
Wade Davis

the woman who lives across the way
my balcony doors look into her living room
she watches so much tv and i am sad about it

she recently bought a rosemary plant
a cactus with a pink flower
and a rose that has beautiful flowers
they are still in their plastic

i am trying to see what she’s watching
is it FRIENDS
i am trying to see into her darkness

a hummingbird comes to drink from our feeder
sucking back the sugar water with her
extra long tongue

high and mighty with my notebook
looking up and through and into
this sister dwelling

“Songs Of Protest” by Julia at her desk


Sunday July 2, 2017
9:30pm
5 minutes
Singing in Dark Times-a Manual for Encoding Dissent
Bhaswati Ghosh


The group of people and all their bikes taking up 3 logs at the beach
sitting in front of us and to the left
playing their casual yet persistant tunes
entitled to so much sand and sky
and then a duo of cropped halter
bikes, a bike radio, elevator soft and poisonous
scoff at the group of people and their volume
One of us says
You snooze you lose
The first assholes are always the best assholes
They get priority, first to breach the code
None of us move our sandied feet
roll our eyes at the middle place we find ourselves in
too caught up with space and how much we take in public
wishing we could all untie our tongues from the backs of our heads

“high clouds no wind” by Julia in her bed


Saturday July 1, 2017
11:44pm
5 minutes
The Wayfinders
Wade Davis

no wind reminds me of the Titanic
no wind, no rain, clear skies, unsinkable ship
we know we cannot fight the elements with human tools,
these sticky sandwich hands
why do we try so hard to be destroyers
what business do we think we’re
entitled to here?

The fireworks were visible from our balcony so we stayed inside
we didn’t need to leave our room to enjoy the experience.
Must have been quite the party with so many rockets launched.

“Is there somewhere else she could go?” By Sasha at her kitchen table


Friday June 30, 2017
10:27pm
5 minutes
Overheard on the 7

I think about space a lot. I always have. I was adjusting lighting and moving chairs around from the time I could walk. I was bossing people around. I think about how bodies move in space, and if there’s enough space, and space space, like Milky Way Orion’s Belt space. I sometimes lie awake and think about the baby I really hope to have one day and how much space she will take up in her lifetime. Is there space for what I want to do and say and make? I often get in the way of my space, shrinking and sucking and squishing so that I take up less of it.

“I have a friend who loves your photography” by Sasha on her porch


Thursday June 29, 2017
7:04pm
5 minutes
From a text

You told me that you wanted to take my picture
but when you did
seventeen weeks later
it was a roaring disappointment.
I thought you got me like you had
actually read my birth chart
like you actually knew
the last four digits of my phone number.
I thought you were joking when you said
you had a girlfriend.
What kind of women am I when I hate on
her for being on your lips
when we’re naked?
What kind of woman am I when I shove off
and over and imagine the stillness of her
there a phantom limb of a maybe?
Maybe it has nothing to do with
the woman-ness that I always
bring it back to.
Maybe my bottom line is a
different kind of colour.

“not a permanent” by Sasha on her couch


Wednesday June 28, 2017
11:32pm
5 minutes
From an email

“It’s not permanent,” Izzy says, braiding my hair. I love the feeling, and ask her to do it any chance I get. There’s a chicken roasting in the oven and we’ll eat it whenever it’s done. Doesn’t matter that it’s almost eleven. Izzy’s parents own a restaurant so they are always out at night, and it’s prime hang time. They stock their house with these amazing ingredients. Her Dad even went to Italy a few weeks ago, just to get cheese and tomato sauce and flour. Izzy only came out of her shell when we started hanging out. Before that she barely spoke. She’d read and make bracelets in the bleachers at lunch.