the 173rd thing i miss about my crazy exboyfriend

walking in the fog, at night, drinking chai and holding hands (the kind of hand holding where both of your hands are tucked up inside the sleeve of his jacket).

so on my way home this evening, i noticed that the sky to the south was very grey and quite hazy. i immediately attributed this to the impending big-bang-boom of mt st helens. please note that i was not listening to the radio (was yodelling ecstatically off tune along to 'sabotage') so had no idea whether or not i was correct in my assumption.

i came bursting in the door and announced to my housemates "thar she blows" or something equally eloquent. we flipped on the tv and, sure enough, the lead story on the evening news was about the blast of steam and ash which erupted earlier this afternoon. i was busy patting myself on the back for my meteorological powers of observation, when my dad poo-poo'd my idea.

"it's just an inversion he said. inversion my ass. typical prince george winter weather mythology: the mills have spewed sulphuric waste into the air. because it's so cold, the pollution settles on the city in a thick yellow soup like nothing dickensian london ever saw. the city fathers call it an "inversion". i call it like it is: pollution. stink. not the smell of money, the smell of industry. that, folks, is what cancer smells like.

this, i feel, is not the same sulphuric sputum of my childhood winters, but is it entirely coincidental that mt st helens erupted just to the south a few hours ago? i think not...