the wrong path

I just walked from downtown to my house. I'm sure this doesn't sound at all impressive, but I walked from Davie and Granville to my house. Across the Granville Street Bridge. Along 6th. To my house. Wearing slightly torn up Chuck Taylors.

Fine, it's only an hour-long walk, but did I mention my inappropriate shoes? I now have a half-blister on the pad of my foot. (What's a half-blister? you may ask yourself. In simple terms, when you form a blister and it pops before you complete the activity that caused the blister. A double blister is, naturally, a blister that forms on top of an existing blister.)

Now, in retrospect I'm not sure what I was thinking. Probably that I didn't want to use a fare saver on a stupid bus trip. That, of course, would be wasteful and silly. As opposed to walking the opposite direction for a while to walk through a mostly uninhabited area with questionable lighting for 30 blocks. THAT'S totally rational.

Really, I didn't want to be at home just yet and killing an hour on foot was a better option than the quick ride home to nothing. The only reason I came home at all was because the beer was punching my bladder into submission. Stupid beer.

I wanted to walk the False Creek South seawall, but there is no easy way to get to it from the bridge. I suspect the night lights are quite fetching along that route. Perhaps sometime this weekend I'll walk to Granville Island and get some seafood at Go Fish for the first time this year and figure out how to stay late enough that the sun will go down and I'll be able to see the night lights. Maybe this will have to be done in two instalments.

Tonight I went to see three short films about Vancouver in the 1940s and 1960s (or, more specifically, bill bissett in 1968) and maybe I wanted to see if I could find anything that remains from that time. Or maybe pretend that some of the previous eras were still there, even though the city continues to do everything imaginable to destroy all parts of the past. Vancouver has been torn down to an unidentifiable level that I can barely remember things I used to see every day when I first moved here 17 years ago. I was feeling nostalgic for an age I was never a part of.

And now I have a stupid blister on my stupid sensitive feet.