I am rather weary of life in Nova Scotia, and I suppose North America in general. It's taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact I have to leave forever, to take off from the cold, lonely shores, inhospitable to the weak of mind such as myself. I never saw it as a necessity, until recently.

I almost saw myself coming back here, settling back in with my old friends. I've no doubt things would be much the same as I left them, regardless of the amount of time passed. But now it's quite clear I have to leave this pile of collected dirt and stones behind, and the "party" lifestyle everyone here seems to espouse. It seems to be how everyone here copes with the stress of living here, though, incidentally it doesn't seem to be helping them. I'm aware there are plenty of people here who are not like this, but I haven't met any who weren't complete assholes.

Maybe, just maybe, with luck's grace, in a remote village across the sea, working for room and board, everything will start to come together for me. If I become fit and healthy enough, nigh impossible for me here considering the cost of everything, if I take away as many of the overbearing stimuli found in modern societies, I can unlock the inner hunter. The brilliant predator within. The calculating stalker, with his eyes on but the prize and nothing else.

I am the predator. But I am dazed and confused by the bright neon lights. Their allure has strayed me from my path, and now I'm lost, wandering, following lights which were never meant to be followed. —And Goodbye