Sticky Beak
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The Skinny
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...life in small Northern towns, working for assholes, boys who refuse to become men, synthetic personalities, anorexic models and their link to emotional scarring, bad marijuana trips, crazies on BC Transit, beer, piece of shit cars, living out of a suitcase paycheck to paycheck, unrequited love, Seinfeld, minimum-wage jobs, broken New Year�s resolutions, and over-limit Visa accounts.
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Victory by default! Day... wait, what day is this? Day 4, I think. And already I�m breaking. Crumbling. Falling to pieces. Stressed to the max. I've been reduced to tears and have taken refuge in my bedroom to escape from the incessant wailing of that seventeen month old baby out there. Lord help me, I don't know how I'll get through the next eight days... but I will. I need a drink. Maybe a few. Today was just a bad day all around. Ethan didn't sleep well last night, which means I didn't sleep well last night, and then it was an early wake-up call to get the kids up and at 'em for school this morning. Then Tony's one-week post-op appointment in the city, which was scheduled for 2:30 but started at 4:00, didn't release us until 6:15. I ask you, what the hell is the point of an appointment if one party doesn�t keep to the schedule? Is the whole concept of an appointment just an illusion? Is it a conspiracy that doctors have against patients? Jerry Seinfeld comes to mind (again), since the appointment is very similar to car reservations... "You know how to take the reservation, you just don't know how to hold the reservation. And that's really the most important part. Anybody can just take 'em!" Thank you Jerry. Once again your profound wisdom and insight brings us comfort in the knowledge that we are not alone. At any rate, here I sit, hiding like a child incapable of dealing with what lurks outside my bedroom door. How pathetic am I? And she thinks I'm capable of raising these children if she dies??? Come on. I'm a fecking flake. No, a transient flake. I don't have the capacity to organize or take care of myself, never mind four children. I mean, I don't even eat vegetables, for chrissake. I have absolutely no business being responsible for another person's well-being. This is why I have desk jobs rather than a profession in health services or education. Can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if I were given such a charge? Not to mention the law suits. Jeezus. Once Mel returns from her work expedition, I'm on my way to BL to pick up my VW Bus and head back down to Vancouver to find work and get situated (read: out of debt). Seeing as I don't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, a couple of my amazing girlfriends have stepped up and offered their couches to me until I can get sorted. I'm nothing if not a stubborn martyr, so am looking at supplementing these offers with campouts in my VW. I think this is a totally reasonable and feasible option, since it's still summer in Van and my VW has all the amenities I'll need... but for some reason, the idea has been met with considerable opposition. Why? I don't get it. Years ago, I had a doctor in BL who lived in his VW Bus for two years while attending university. The bus had a fridge, stove, bed... the only thing it lacked was washroom facilities, so he joined a gym for $40/month. Problem solved! Genius! The only reason he didn't keep it up longer was because he got busted for overnight parking in the university's student lots and after that the campus cowboys had him on their radar. Damian thinks it's unsafe. Pshaw. Probably safer than living in a first floor apartment in Vancouver, I say. We'll see. I still think it's a good idea. Anyway. I suppose I should mosey... I can hear the child screaming bloody murder out there, and should probably take it on. I am the 'responsible adult' in the house, after all. Yeah, right. More like the only adult in the house. Ha! Ha! VICTORY BY DEFAULT! |