This is where my journal starts to get very musing and thought-processy. With no other bodies to get into conversation with, steer my thoughts, or keep my attention, my mind felt free to wander wherever it pleased. I continued to read my book. Additional visual entertainment was provided by an attractive bus station worker who showed up for his shift after I got there. Young, bright-eyed, tall. He looked very ‘indie.’ He stood behind me helping a family rescue some wayward quarters from a malicious locker. Such a nice boy, even if it is part of his job description. Suddenly I begin thinking that the breath of another falling softly on my face is a beautiful feeling, as is watching a heart beat in someone’s chest. Life is so strange, intangible. Maybe I just need more sleep.

A couple hours in, I decided to move outside, as the terminal was getting a bit crowded due to some newly-arrived buses. It wasn’t much better outside, but at least there was fresh, if muggy, air. And grasshoppers. They were all over my bag, on my head, my knees, wherever they could find purchase. I can’t believe people live in Regina and just accept this! As the sun crept closer, and finally, onto me, I had to move because I couldn’t deal with the heat. Only I ended up standing near a guy whose cig smoke was intent on following me around no matter where I moved to avoid it. There was also a strange old man sitting around who tried to talk to people, but did it in a way that made it seem like he was talking to himself, so everyone just ignored him. He was a strange man, and didn’t understand why they wouldn’t let him back on his bus, which was very obviously being serviced at the time.

Loading for my bus began around 6:30 in the evening, but due to stragglers, we didn’t leave the terminal until 7. So I left Regina behind. The bus rolled out into the sunset, as I played my Elbow CD. It was very reminiscent of the prior year’s lonely journey across the country. Beautiful music, beautiful country, all the time in the world to think of stuff. It’s a nice release. We arrived in Moose Jaw just before 8pm. We drove past a Victorian house with an elderly couple sitting on the front porch, on opposite sides of the door, watching the traffic. They seemed to not be aware of each other, and looked as motionless as mannequins. Very quaint. I like Moose Jaw as a place of interest. I like moose too. Moose are neat. But Moose Jaw looks like a town that movies are shot in (probably is, too). It’s so late-frontier-town. There was a candy store we passed called Cavities. Parents’ worst nightmare. I remember some Bullwinkle-talk on the way in with the band now. I also begin to think that I regret not taking more road-photos and candid shots. I always get sheepish when doing stuff like that, even though I know these people are okay with it. I just hate feeling like I might be intruding, but, I mean, photos are what I do! I'll develop my paparazzi tendencies eventually I guess. For some reason, we drive in circles past the same block in Moose Jaw a few times. I don’t know if the driver can’t find the terminal, or if maybe there’s no space for the bus. But we finally get it sorted out.

There’s a guy straight outta FUBAR sitting across the aisle and a couple rows in front of me. He keeps trying to talk to people. There’s also this fairly appealing Quebecois guy with dreadlocks sitting with a group of people near the back. They seem to have taken over the ass end of the bus, and swap seats frequently. These seats on this bus, one of the older ones, are tilted back too far, and they have no lumbar support whatsoever. At least the footrests are there and the seat doesn’t squeak. I went through that before. And another thought comes into my head, how good of a decision this was to come on this trip. I had just been talking to a friend a few weeks hence about how I’m running in circles in Vancouver and need to go out and shake things up a bit once in a while. And how! I also wish there was a storm. There was a wicked storm out of Calgary last year. The sky, so far, is clear. The meek fellow sitting in front of me is sewing up his bag. I can see his reflection in the window. I almost opened the overhead compartment into his skull as we boarded the bus earlier. I apologized. He seems like a nice guy.

“In the daytime, distraction’s easy. In the evening, you’re under my skin. I wanna talk you back to sleep…” Musical interlude.

At 10pm, we stop in Swift Current for forty minutes. The amount of bugs quashed on the front of the bus is absolutely terrifying. I’m surprised the driver could see at all. In the washroom stall in the terminal, someone has been rolling a joint and left behind a fair amount of pot on the tissue dispenser. Then I head over to Johnnie’s Lunchbox for some chow, since I haven’t eaten since the Humpty’s nine hours earlier. It’s the same woman working the cash register as was there last year. She's a kind and helpful lady, and I remember her well. I was going to get a poutine, but ended up getting a Chef Salad instead. The kind woman told me to make sure to let her know if I needed any more salad dressing. Oh man, was that ever fabulous. Best salad I’ve had in a long time. A mountain of lettuce, ham, turkey, tomato, cuke, carrot, cheddar and egg, with a ranch dressing and toast, for less than five bucks. There’s a guy sitting two tables in front of me who is eating borscht and staring at me while I eat as if I won’t notice him. There are pictures of old tin collectible lunchboxes with cartoons and TV stars on them on the wall, and the news program on the TV is talking about a giant meteor that hit the earth when only single-celled organisms were on it. And Avril Lavigne is on. Go figure, after the amount of times Todd mindlessly sang the song, much to everyone’s chagrin, over the trip so far. Fuck off, mock n' roll!

Getting back on the bus (I couldn’t finish that whole, huge salad), I ran into the Quebecois guy. I wish I could photograph him without seeming weird or cheesy. Oh well. Now is the time I start getting antsy. It’s dark, so there’s not much to distract me outside, and all I can do is think about the past couple days, the fun that was had, and when I might be able to do something similar. My back is aching, and I want to either be at home in bed with a cup of tea before endless sleep, or else back in the van with those three great guys. I wonder where they are right now, driving away from me? I know I will enjoy the ride, just me and my music.

I am always under fire for being short. I think people think it’s cute, especially when I’m with these massive guys. Todd patted me on the head after the Humpty’s incident in a “there, there, little girl…” sort of way. Argh! I want to spend my entire life doing this. Travelling by ground, seeing new and different things, being around engaging, courteous, and spectacular people. I feel really fortunate to have had this opportunity. This is starting to sound like an awards speech. The Quebecois girls behind me are speaking Frenglish.

A guy got on the bus here with the rest of the passengers without giving his ticket to the driver first. As she walked down the aisle counting us, she stopped by him and said, “I should kick you out! I’m not stopping in Medicine Hat; I’m just gonna slow down and roll you out.” That was great. She’s funny.

Late night machines and I am drifting in and out of sleep. It’s 11. The moon is so high, and the girl behind me is bumping my seat. I know these entries are getting scribbly because there is no light on the bus, and the overhead one is too bright for me to stand. I think this lonely stretch of highway is where that weird abandoned auto wreck with the pickup and the overturned semi was last year. Okay, it’s actually a couple behind me bumping the seat. I think it’s the dreadlocked guy. The girl is straddling his lap and they're making out. This is irritating. I should recline the seat onto them. It’s a fucking Greyhound, kids. Enough. It’s 11:30 and I have no idea where we are.

Drunken bitter tears for beds shared by forbidden lovers.

All right I just turned around in my seat to give these people behind me an evil glare, and was greeted by the sight of a naked ass. They are naked and fucking. Do you understand the magnitude of the situation here? There is a couple fucking on the seats behind me on a Greyhound bus that is mostly full. Suspicions confirmed, it's the dreadlocked Quebecois boy. An arm just came flying over the seat and smacked me on the head. Not even a grunt of apology. I don’t even believe this. If I were in a different mood I might find this really hot, but I just want to kill them right now. 11:50… over an hour they’ve been going at it. There’s been people getting up and going to the bathroom, walking right past them. This is not discreet at all. She’s on his lap, going right at it. They changed positions a couple times, but they’re still naked. Unreal. And no one’s saying anything about it. I don’t know why I’m putting up with it. They have no right to think it’s okay to do that in such close quarters with a bunch of strangers. They stop just before Maple Creek (such an outpost), I think because I slammed the armrest back really hard, which made a jolting noise. My arm stretching and sitting up in my seat did nothing to dissuade them. Hey, there’s someone awake right in front of you. Do you fucking mind??

I’m all for sex in public places. Let’s just get that straight. In addition, I’m pretty laisez-faire about most things if no one’s being hurt. If you’re comfortable fucking around other people, power to you. But only if it’s done somewhere where people have the choice to get away from it if they don’t want to be there. Once the power of choice is taken away from people, that’s when I start to have a problem with things. The people on this bus do not have the choice to get away. They are going to be affected by it, and they cannot leave, they don’t have that choice, and so, it’s completely unfair to the rest of the passengers. I know many were sleeping and oblivious to this occurring, but it was very obvious I was awake in front of them, and it didn’t bother them at all. I am seriously going to kill these people. Fuck. There’s a lot of mail being loaded and unloaded here in Maple Creek.

The dreadlocked guy, who is not so attractive to me anymore, is lying across the aisle asleep. I should kick shit at him under the seats, or maybe stumble violently over him on the way to the bathroom. What a stupid place to sleep. The girl is on the seat behind me. I hate them. Strong word, but I do.

Midnight. The way Squid drives, they’re probably really near Thunder Bay by now. We are in a sleepy little town. There are no lights on in any of the houses. The bus is also finally peaceful. Quiet. I feel alone, even though I can see the silent people around me. No one has a light on. It’s dark.

3am. Nowhere Alberta. FUBAR just leaned over to me, claiming boredom and wondering if he could sit beside me and talk. I figure I’ll punch him in the state I’m in, so I say no, I’d rather just listen to my music and try to get some sleep. I didn’t really want to sleep, but I was listening to Death Cab for Cutie, and I really like the CD. I laid my head back on the seat and tried to turn my head as far away as possible in feigned sleep while I looked out the window, but I know he was watching me, and I know he knew I was awake. I think he just got up and had a smoke in the washroom.

Who the fuck lives way out here? There’s nothing for miles. You have to be totally subsistent. A noble existence, I suppose. I’d love to go outside to look at the stars. It’s like someone opened a saltshaker and cast it across the heavens. Gorgeous. We’re at a point in the province where you can’t even see a distant, orange glow from a town anywhere on the horizon. Just sleepy farmhouses dotting the landscape.

Where are we now? I remember that hotel with the waterslide that Todd oohed over on the way in. I’m dehydrated and losing circulation in my legs, but anytime we come to a break point, I don’t feel like moving to alleviate those two problems. A guy who smells like food and unwashed jacket just got on. He’s wafting. FUBAR just moved to another seat, and I imagine he’s trying desperately to find someone to strike up a conversation with, like the blond girl with the video game thing and the giant pillow he yapped with for a couple hours. Oh, this is Brooks. I recognize the smell. It’s 3:30am.

Traveling is such a weird dichotomy for me. I love going place for a long time and seeing new things, but on the other hand, I love my stuff. I love it too much. I think it’s unhealthy. I had a dream that there was a tornado coming, and we had to leave the house right away, but I stayed behind so I could pack all my stuff and take it with me. I suppose I have a different mentality when I travel, that I am always going back to my stuff. But if I do this the rest of my life, will I be okay not being near my stuff?

Again, I have the urge to go outside and sit in a field. Hang out with those mopey cows. Look at the stars. I love this. There is a large city in the distance. Surely not Calgary already? One side of my headphones isn’t working properly and it’s really irritating. We hit Bassano at 4am (Heath...). Bassano? What the..? I finally got off the bus to buy some lemon green tea. It’s going to be great. It must suck to work as the graveyard shift clerk in a gas station way out here off the highway. Poor gal. My right quad is cramping up, as is my left hand, opposite of the hand that hurt yesterday. I think it’s the way I keep it as I sit. The moon looks tiny and white and the multiple reflection in the bus window is ethereal. The window sill is a perfect size to rest a bottle on, and the air conditioning keeps it cold. I'm reminded of Pete Yorn, but I have to change the hour by two..."I'm outside your house. 4am it's dark..."

A fat guy who got on the bus a while ago is sitting across from me. He’s fast asleep but I can see his cel phone blinking in his pocket. I really love Muse. I do. I keep thinking I should make a cover band, despite my lack of a musical bone in my body. Last week I was ready to lop off a few heads, I was so stressed out, and now, with the exception of the lovebirds, I am completely calm. Ahhhhh. There are houses dotting the landscape, visible by their windows and silhouetted by the marginally paler sky. And my contact lens solution is leaking, which I notice as I remove my lenses finally. Todd was right about the plastic bags. Thanks goodness I realized that a long time ago.

Continue to Part V : The Trip Home Continues