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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Tuesday, May. 08, 2012 @ 8:13 pm
I'm in camp. Had dinner in the caf with an older surveyor who I immediately took a shine too - quiet, fit, bright eyes. Now I'm lying in bed, voices in the hallway, the distant chatter of TVs. Typing this on my phone on spotty wifi.
Yesterday: stress seeping from my pores. We got an offer on the house. I had to decide whether to accept it sitting in a trailer full of raucous 20 year old materials testers. Had to find a printer and scanner in camp. Total disaster.
Driving around the mine site. Mud from 24 hrs of torrential rain. Excavator slithers into a sinkhole.
In the office trailer I sit silent and sullen. I'm gently teased for being skinny. For being quiet. I'm in a small space full of guys and am not the slightest bit interested in any of them. The feeling is probably mutual.
But I like Cliff, and I talk with him over dinner. And at breakfast an engineer from the office is here, and I'm so thankful he's here, and there is warmth in his smile. In that moment I am so happy - a bowl of oatmeal and berries, clean and dry Carhartts, and Fred's smile.
I walk down the dorm hallway just before sunset. It's a womens dorm of 44 rooms. I haven't seen any other women who are white. First Nations women, working the kitchens and the laundry. I am jealous of their familial ties, their friendships. I smile and keep my head down; I am the outsider.
I am already nostalgic for the North. My most authentic experience, in a remote camp laced with tuberculosis. Where I am silent and observing and blending into the crowd. The old boys, the oil rig exports, the greenhorns. A few tough chicks. The owner's team in slacks and pristine work vests. And me.