Wilderness Withdrawl Symptoms.

This time last week I was ripping around the Big Rideau on a jetski with one of my best friends - chasing boats so we could jump off their wakes. I still have a bad case of 'watercraft-back' but it was the most fun I've had in ages. Today, I'm back cleaning my apartment, doing laundry, getting a head start on the work week via some pre-emptive client emails and generally pining for the Canadian countryside.

This September, I'll have lived in the North End for 6 years. I love it here, and I don't think I'd do as well in any other neighborhood, but I think the charm of city-living is wearing thin. There are few elements of my job that I couldn't do on a wireless connection from the end of the dock at my family's house in Portland, Ontario. But I'm required to live in one of only about 5 North American cities where I can do what I do - and they all involve paying small fortunes to live in smaller shoeboxes. I feel like a veal, and I want to appeal.

If I won the lottery, I'd buy an island or every house in my parent's secluded summer neighborhood. Then I'd move all of my closest friends in and we'd start a commune of some sort. Maybe commune is a bad word - It conjures up images of Waco, Jonestown and Heaven's Gate. I'm not suggesting anything crazy like a secret settlement that worships me as a prophet. And besides, everyone knows that cyanide is ingested a lot quicker when mixed into Pabst Blue Ribbon as opposed to purple KoolAid. It's the carbonation, you see. You know, maybe this could work. I'm off to get a $2 scratch ticket. Update: I won $10. Baby steps.