What am I doing here, back in this city, back on these streets that seem unchanged? Seven months away and it all seem so strange but so familiar.

I wandered down to the beach, during a little Kits basement suite party, and walked the same low tide as last night. It's just not the same here. It's not dark. Traffic sounds mix with the breaking waves.

I look down at all the footprints (and raindrops) in the well-worn sand and congratulate myself. "You got yourself a job in the city."

The day plays out in my head. Five am: rain on the roof of the cabin and me pacing within. Seven am: making coffee. Nine am: falling alseep on the kitchen floor. Eleven am: buckling the lifejacket and watching the rotors warm up above my head. One pm: "You are five minutes early. I thought the ferries weren't running yet?" Three pm: celebratory sushi in the village with Sarah.

(Note: black rubber boots apparently pass for acceptable interview footwear if you buff them up a bit)

I start work on Tuesday. My vehicle/clothes/shoes/stuff are on Salt Spring. Oh yeah, and half a month of seal feeding shifts to disperse. What a mess.