Time is flying like a sparrow in a hurricane. I've already been here for four weeks. Busy does not even begin to express what I am. When I get home in the evenings, often after 7pm, I make dinner while listening to the CBC (oh, bless you, Canadian Broadcasting Corporation !) and then settle down with Kinsey and play on the MUD for a few hours before showering and hitting the hay. Sometimes I manage to read for a bit before I conk out, or do a crossword, but more often than not, I lie down and within minutes, I'm unconscious.

Spring has finally sprung, and hopefully it will last now. After a month of -30 degrees, this +5 degree business is a relief. It feels like an heat wave. Whitehorse is becoming somewhat gruesome, though, as the hardpack starts to melt revealing all the layers of sand for the road and accumulations of dog crap, massive turds made by massive sled dogs. Kind of gross. I bet the slopes around the city look fantastic when the flowers start to bloom, though. I look forward to that. I understand that May is lovely.

I have begun the search for an apartment, and if things go alright tomorrow at the viewing I have scheduled, I may well have one. I won't get my hopes up, but it certainly seems to fit my needs, at least in description. It will even allow me to have a cat (or two !). People seem to have a strange idea of what being a good pet owner means, and so a lot of apartments are pet-free zones. Also, apartment prices vary widely up here. In some instances, because of electrical heating (ouch), they can run more expensive than an apartment in Toronto. Crazy, I know. Anyway, this place is available in May, and if I'm lucky, the cat at the Humane Society with which I may be smitten may also still be available in May. For the cat's sake, I hope he gets adopted first, but I know I'll be a wonderful pet owner for him, so I'd like him to be mine.

Last night was the "Burning Away the Winter Blues" festival. It was a strange family event with strong pagan overtones that celebrated the return of the sunlight to the Yukon. It's been running for about eight years and has varying popularity. Maybe 200 people came out for it, which is actually less than I'd expected, but considering they market it to the arts community, rather than the wider community of Whitehorse, I guess that's a good turn-out. Each year, someone constructs an effigy to represent, I suppose, Old Man Winter, which is then paraded along the river to a great big bonfire and ceremonially thrown in the flames. This year, there was a dragon puppet, kind of like a Chinese dragon, that 'fought' with the effigy before triumphing and hurling Winter into the fire. People are encouraged to bring things to burn and there are refreshments served, etc. It was fun, but poorly organised, and the poor guy carrying the effigy didn't even get offered a glass of water at the end, nor did he receive any thanks for carrying this thing for 45 minutes along a slippery, snow-covered path. Anyway, I decided that Old Man Winter was my representation of George Bush and we were burning him to celebrate the 3rd anniversary of the War in Iraq, which apparently the USA hasn't, in fact, won. It made for me the whole thing a much more poignant cleansing ritual.

Now I must don my coveralls, originally bought for my Rosie the Riveter costume for Hallowe'en last year, and go help paint in the gallery. The paint was donated, but not the labour (nice), so we have to do it. Of course, I have no appropriate footwear for this activity, so hopefully they won't mind me using bare feet. If they do, I'll wear my socks.