Waving Not Drowning

Every day at 3 pm he gets into his car, a 2006 Toyota Corolla 4 door sedan in  a sunfaded navy, plugs in his gps, turns the radio on to Jazz FM and buckles himself in. Even though Curtis is the only person who ever drives his car, he checks then rechecks and adjusts his mirrors, just in case they've shifted over the course of the 8 hours the Corolla's been parked in an underground secured employee only parking lot. Monday through Friday, Curtis drives the 38 kilometre return trip from his 1970's- era one bedroom walk up apartment on a quiet one way dead end street in the city's east end all the way across town to the hip new enclave of design warehouses where he works as a program developer in the land of web design. A drone tethered to his computer in a medium sized start up company where he manages to disappear into the fabric of his surroundings. Milquetoast amongst a sea of brightly coloured walls, hyper lit screens, geometric patterned floors and dynamic, gregariou...

She's lost the map. It was around here a second ago. Ok, maybe two days ago or so but still, it's not like she threw it out. It's small, but noticeable: laminated, mutlicoloured, flexible. That was the point of buying it, so it would fit into her pocket yet fold out into something large enough to navigate by. That's the third thing she's lost in a week. Misplaced, hopefully. If everything happens in threes she's topped out, won the trifecta. Why is it the simple things are the most confounding for Ally? Pack a bag, write a list, fold the laundry. These things paralyze her when they go even slightly off center. She's doing better now, even Jordan thinks so. The CT and the meditation, the yoga and painting, all of it seems to be helping. Ally knows, though, she's simply built this way. There is no wrong, no right, just this. She stumbles and falters, begins again or changes focus completely and starts anew, somewhere, somehow, in some way else. Her own dir...