The sun has risen, and the crows settled into the cornfield.

I might as well start from the end and work my way to the beginning.

Yesterday, after waiting two hours for my paycheque, I met Iain for some football practice. We did some passes, then we tried attacking and defending. Iain also practiced his corner kicks, since I want him to be our teams' forward. On one of his last tries, I attempted to catch the ball with my sternum, but I turned and the ball slapped my ribs. They vibrated like xylophone keys when the ball bounced off me. Afterwards I went out for greasy Chinese food and swung by Iain's for a party. I'm still sore today, especially when I laugh or twist my shoulders.

But, more importantly, I finished my ten-day jaunt working for the UN World Urban Forum. At the beginning, the convention had a very energetic atmosphere. People from all over the world would come up to the registration booths, brimming with excitement at being in another country. As time wore on, the participants and the staff began to wane, as exhaustion, frustration and boredom crept up and slithered into the proceedings. Often there were long stretches of doing nothing, or the odd task involving getting more office supplies or convention kits.

I met mayors from Africa, scholars from Italy and N.G.O. directors from Mexico. I must have badged well over 200 people, possibly even more. On any given day I could be seen directing traffic (the human body kind of traffic), registering participants, answering questions and doing whatever the supervisors needed doing. I actually enjoyed traffic control for awhile there. Not many folks are given the opportunity to command a mass of people at one time, like a general leading troops into a battlefield shrouded in acrid smoke. Or something like that. I was surprised by how many people simply don't listen. A person in a semi-formal uniform is politely asking them to walk somewhere that will help make the process of entering a crowded building efficient and expedient. But, no: they would much rather wander haplessly into doors and other pedestrians, or enter a restricted area and be reprimanded by security.

During the slow periods some of us would enter the convention and sample some of the free food (the pecan tarts were the best, I described them as "angels with jet-black wings brandishing swords and spears wreathed in blue flame") or sit in on the talks and events. Or, we would just chat with one another to pass the time. Most of the other temps were recent graduates from UBC so there was plenty to talk about. I was surprised by the number of political science majors working there, and there were a couple of artists working to make ends meet, so to speak.

Working 8 to 10 hour shifts for ten days straight was very much like living a monastic existence. I hardly saw anyone I know, or even went out. I would wake up at around 6 AM (completely uncivilized, yes), work, come home, eat, sleep then repeat the process the next day. I did have some time to read poetry and the odd article, but any writing was done entirely in my head. Which means I have to remember as much as possible and transcribe everything soon.

So yeah, that's about it.