Today might have been a day I had spent back in Ontario. I got up at 6 a.m. and made my way to work in the slushy and sloppy snow that has blanketed Vancouver for the last three days. The wind was cold and the temperatures dipped into the negatives. I have been so accustomed to working without gloves that within the hour I was beginning to rethink my fortitude. My fingers had gone completely numb with cold and I could scarcely hold the aluminum that seemed to stick to my skin and not want to let go. After some time the pain mercifully subsided, and was left with a dull and warm throbbing that seemed to make my skin immune from all other cold. The morning was spent shivering violently, hundreds of feet above the bleary streets of downtown traffic. I looked northwards, across Burrard Inlet to the mountains, but they were shrouded in a gray mist out of which swirled countless flakes that swept into my face. My eyebrows were soon covered in hoarfrost, and my fleece was turned to verglas.
The afternoon brought milder conditions, but the flurry did not end. Large, sopping flakes came pouring down over us, but this time we were well covered. If one were to stare imperceptibly into the horizon, one’s peripheral vision could detect the millions of swirling white flakes as they scattered amongst each other, some colliding and crashing down together in unison. It was as though a giant hand had shook the world sitting inside it’s glass sphere and the snow was the only thing that moved, not rooted to the Earth as we were. The numb sensation of cold dissipated, and inside was kindled an awe of nature’s forces. It seemed strange to me suddenly, this building I was on, this concrete that held me aloft from the Earth, the wind and snow yet trying to find a way into our creation. It would be like this forever, I thought, long after this tower crumbled to the ocean and man is returned to the dust of time.
[...]
I spent four hours tonight trying to extricate a malicious virus from my terminally-ill computer. The day is coming when it will pass away. I can feel it.
Posting may be sporadic. But check in daily, as I usually always post something up. It will probably not be as philosophically existentialist as the one above, but I’m not making any promises.
