Shhh - don't tell anyone.

I found a back door to the GFW.
It appears that I can post and view my own drafts, however I'm unable to view my blog directly.
Has something to do with the domain names 'blogger' (good) & 'blogspot' (bad).

At the end of the day, who cares?

Setting Sail for Destination Unknown

Tickets & passport in hand, packed & ready to go.
Preparations until now have gone smoothly.
Surprisingly so.

Working every day - even on the departure date.
There'll be the last minute cleaning & storing of personal effects.
My life in Vancouver will be put on hold while I'm in China.

I was going there for him.
However he's not been there for me.
Now the real uneasiness stirs.

So much for him.
So little in return.
So now it's up to me - alone.

Last minute doubts

I actually have very few.
But they are there.
They linger.
They nag.

So I do burn the midnight oil.
But not over my doubts.
They don't keep me up.
They challenge me.

They show me their mysteriousness.
They even appear to be logical.
They will be deciphered.
I pay little heed.

I set out to overcome them.
I am in no way prepared.
Yet I do find the way.
In my own time.

Say what you mean, mean what you say

You may think it's not a lie if you don't believe it yourself.

Of course, you could do whatever you want -
regardless of my wishes for your welfare.

Just don't expect me to be there when you still don't get
how your actions speak louder than your words.

Sleeping less in Seattle

Through some window at 3am, I stopped in my tracks upon seeing this arrangement. I felt at peace for about 2 seconds before a group of louts hooted and hollered like barnyard animals in a burning building. They danced upon parked cars and made such fools of themselves. Worse yet, this was the gay neighbourhood of Seattle on a Tuesday night. Not sure I'd like to see the weekend here. Must be something akin to Vancouver's Davie Street cross-dressed into Granville Street. I was confounded by the dichotomy of rudeness and politeness. Americans believe Seattle to be the friendliest and most polite of their cities. Yet when I asked if I could use Canadian dollars at one establishment, I was told by the queeny troll at the cash register, "Honey, this is the United States of America. Why would we accept foreign money?" I minded my tongue, but under my breath I could barely hold back, "Because your currency is worth less every day , sweetheart". Entering the US was typically a stupid ordeal. The border agent was no less pathetic. When asked if I were married, I looked at him like, "Do you really want to know my relationship status? Because I will tell you, but surely you don't want to go into that."
He didn't believe anything I told him and challenged me on every point. What a goon. Like I'd gone to an Al Queda training camp or something. He was, however, kind enough to let me enter the Excited States of América without strip-searching me. That was kind of him.