Got called today to work tomorrow. I'm not going out on a trip--or probably not--but doing "terminal duty," meeting the incoming train and preparing the outgoing train for departure. Terminal duty--or standby, as it's also known--is about as fun as it sounds and being assigned all summer meant that I never had to do it. Now that I'm a spare, I'm getting my first terminal shift other than a familiarisation I had months ago. I'll likely have to do it again on Sunday, then off I go east on paid holidays, to attend the annual Poetry Weekend at UNB Fredericton. The Poetry Weekend bills itself as the most disorganized literary festival in Canada. Which may be why it's so damn much fun; basically, if you write, and you show up, you get added to the bill. Three sets of readings on Saturday, three on Sunday, and wicked parties that go all night (yes, 'tis a feat of endurance to make it to all readings after the parties). I went to the first one in 2004 and haven't missed one since. I'm super-pumped to see some good friends, including Sharon McCartney (who is always an extraordinary host in her riverside house), Wayne Clifford (who's in the midst of building his own waterfront domicile on Grand Manan Island) and the crowd from Littlefishcartpress (Jeramy Dodds, Gabe Foreman, Leigh Kotsilidis, Josh Trotter), also Poetry Weekend veterans (with the exception of Josh, I believe).