Depleted

It’s late at night
and I have watched the love
of others.

The white lines on the road causing
things to change, turn
drive off.

And I am so up and ready
I am so much and there
I am.

It’s taking all this control not to
move there, be everything; scream from
the rafters.

Or is it cry into the self-pity?
Pull the knife out and watch the blood stain
the waters,

cram everything back down to
stand behind the counter again.
Self esteem.

So its like this blustery storm that
makes your hair fly and your eyes…
Its like…

The madness inside that violent rain that
slams into the pavement and dances
back up.

Its saturation and depletion
It’s a frustration and melancholy exhaustion that;
Kills you.

Paper

My Father passed away about a year and half ago. Yesterday I began shredding the paper aspect of his life. Paper that traces and is now one of the only records of his existence. I have thought that I can make up a big story about all this, become a victim and create lots of meaning here. Instead I just think it is funny how in his life those pieces of paper were so important. A cheque he wrote me in 96, a Mastercard statement, receipts for Shayla’s karate. In death they lose all the meaning they had and become trivial, unimportant. It becomes a large green bag of shredded paper that will be recycled into something else. Maybe more paper for another soul to create a record of their life. I was shredding it to make space, get rid of things I do not need. Maybe I will stop now and read everything this record of his life. The things he spent his money on the things he felt were important to keep. Or perhaps they were just things he kept with no importance attached to them. Still, they have become the paper record of his life and aside from pictures and some home movies it is all that remains.

The Library

I was driving home this evening from my sister’s place along a rather quiet section of highway 27. A thought came to me about an episode of Twilghtzone or it could have been Outer Limits, who knows. The episode was about this library that was full of books. There was one book for each of us. The books, however, were all blank. As you lived your life the books filled with all the things you were doing. That’s the best explanation of the episode that I have. If you need something with more details then you are going to have to look up the episode.

My thoughts continued from the books. I was thinking, what would be written in my book right now? I am not sure what voice the books are written in but this is what came to mind.

Roy is driving along the highway. As he picks his nose he glances around trying to take in the scenery. He thinks that he is taking in more than is he actually aware of. My God, is his next thought. Most of this damn book is so boring!

I imagine that most of those books would have pages, chapters, entire volumes of the most boring dull crap you have ever read in your life. Just stop and think about it for a moment. What would be in your book? Elysse rolls out of bed and heads down the hallway to the bathroom. Cherie is fast asleep having dreams about things that make no sense, to her or anyone else. Mom is watching TV having just washed her hair she feels the rollers on her head. Grace is bored in the ER as she monitors a patient.

There you go, food for thought. I suppose I consider the moments in my book that would be exciting. Or close to it. Like, Roy is dancing in the aisle at his third Elton John concert. Or, as Roy witnesses the birth of his second niece he hears his sister Cherie say “it’s a girl!!!” He wonders, how the hell can she tell? I hope she is right because if she’s not Chana is going to be pissed!

I wonder if confronting the HR manager and asking to be paid to leave the company would be considered exciting. Perhaps it all depends on the life we are reading. It might be in my book. I’ll have to give this some more thought. See what I can come up with. In the mean time, however, consider all those pages and pages of boring crap. If you read my book you would be subjected to reading all the pages dedicated to the times I have gone to the can and just sat there. Or the moments in my life sitting alone and idle in my car stuck in traffic. How exciting would that be? Big yawn.
It just occurred to me that this could be hell. Be good in this life everyone cause you might end up in that library forced to read all the boring crap that has gone on in my life!

Public Transit

I was on the streetcar this past Wednesday forced onto public transit by circumstances that were beyond my control. I learned again why I avoid it, public transit. I was sitting there recalling a time when a great friend of mine and I would take the streetcar into work. Direct from the beaches to downtown with all the crazies and undesirables.

This particular trip I was seated 3 rows behind a guy sporting a Mohawk and a belt made out of bullets. Who wears a belt made out of bullets? 4 stops into my ride another character got on wearing a bullet belt. Obviously it is a public transit fashion trend that I have been blissfully unaware of. Anyway, the Mohawk guy and his buddy got off the streetcar early in the ride. We were all relieved as they exited the streetcar. The friend of the Mohawk guy was getting some entertainment out of forcing the streetcar doors open. The act of doing this sets off an alarm and I think he got some high school jolly out of it. The sad thing is I don’t think the guy has seen the inside of a high school in quite a few years.

So the ride continued.

Is it so much to ask that people have a shower? One a day is all I am requesting; take at least one shower a day. I think if that was a law and we had “Sniff” police enforcing the Shower Law the streetcar ride would be that much easier to take. If you have to sit on top of me at least smell good. You could also put on some clean clothes. Put on something that has been laundered this year. The rule could be if it is brown and crusty, it’s not clean. Even if it is just brown and meant to be blue white or green, it’s not clean. These items should not be worn. These items should not be donated to Goodwill either. Toss them!

I was thrilled to see my stop approaching and even more grateful to see my car. My little red Toyota. How nice it is to have a PTV (Personal Transportation Vehicle). I just love it. I hope that I can continue to avoid PT and just ride along in my own space with the tunes blasting smelling my own stink.

Thougths and dreaming

I was lying in bed last night reading National Geographic. Topic: Chernobyl. It was fascinating and scary all at once. The original event, the chain reaction that caused the explosion is incredibly interesting. The science that explains the events that caused the explosion and the plume of radioactive waste. The impact on people and the earth, that is scary. The sudden increase in cancer and the evacuation of thousands of people. An entire area of high-rise apartment buildings now stands empty. Mother Nature is however, claiming her land back. I read most of the article and then drifted off to sleep. The article sparked an interesting disaster dream. I cannot recall the dream; the daylight has stolen it away from me. I do recall waking up and wondering what was going on. The disaster in my dream was very localized.

When the morning came and interpreted the rest of my slumber I immediately thought of Chernobyl. The eyrie pictures of long abandoned daycare centres and homes. The hopes and dreams that were once housed inside the now crumbling buildings. So many lives changed in one afternoon by one accident. The cynic inside me thinks of the minority among us, the rich and powerful, those that will do anything to keep their position did this. They allowed this accident, created it. Then of course left hundreds of thousands of people in the dark about it. Allowing their children to splash around in radioactive puddles. Radioactive puddles, is that something that is real? It seems unreal to me as I write it and think it.

I have also been reading about earthquakes, which is another fascinating topic. The movement of the Earth’s plates and the science that studies that movement. What our Scientists have learned and the vast amount of things they do not understand. Both topics are incredible, interesting and scary. However, I must say that the thought of radioactive puddles has stuck with me. Inside me some place there is a voice telling me to do something about it. Kids should not be playing in radioactive puddles unless they are characters on the Simpson's.... Chilling.

An email exchange

I received this e-mail the other day. Here is my repsonse to it. I was told I should blog it...

The email:

Ok -- well, I am ready to explode here today. I hate everyone today. I hate
this job. I hate it all. Thankless, I tell you... a bunch of thankless
bastards that I work with.... No matter how much is done -- still not enough
-- With this attitude, we should just all be working for Donald Trump - not
the health care industry!
Asssssssholes!

My Response:

Remember you are doing it all for the love of Gizmo; who is currently chewing on the giant cow bone. Everywhere you go you will find assholes. Even shift work has assholes. Do it for some other reason, self fulfillment not the approval or thanks of the losers that surround you. It's political, all human interaction is. Unlike dogs that bite you if you piss them off and love you back with no strings people are devious and dark and full of shit. Humans will berate you for all the little things you forgot or missed or the little mistakes you make. Humans will sneer and leer and talk shit behind your back. When you give a human a treat they will take advantage of you because you are soft or they think they can get more from you. A dog will wag it's tail and have love in its eyes for you even when you run out of treats. 3 days later when you remember to buy more treats the dog wont rag on you for the 3 days you forgot, it will love you and jump up and down that you brought more. Of course dogs bark a lot and pull and fight and stink. But hey so do Humans.
Gizmo might just have clean teeth by the end of the day. He is chewing like a mad man.
Poor Gizmo,
R