I’m really pissed off about John dying. Most days I’m sad. Around the time he died, and during Worldcon, and FilkOntario and Conflikt, I get an extra specially crispy toasted feeling of pain, grief, loss and anger.
Words cannot describe and will never be able to describe how angry I am about the restaurant. The money lost was inconvenient. The damage to my relationship with Katie is, FOUR YEARS ON only beginning to be repaired, whatever you may think of our surface interactions. The damage I took to my idea that I’m a competent individual pretty much destroyed my life until I was desperate enough to start writing in earnest. I suppose I should be thankful for that, but the pain and the misery and the feeling that I want to be ill every time I drive by the old place is horrible.
I’m pissed at Paul for suggesting that we all move to the Island. (I got all excited, we could move as a family unit with kids and grand to Courtenay, blah blah. ) When I asked him if Janice or the soaring club knew about that, he said no, which meant that moving to the Island as an idea has reset to zero, since he’s not going to reduce the amount of time he spends with Janice (nor at this point would I want him to), he no longer flies alone (that was an interesting and candidly heartening piece of news), and there’s no soaring club on the Island. We all got briefly excited for nothing. piss me off.
I’m pissed at the landpeers for thinking that attaching the awning to the deck with poly cord is something worse than our nightmarishly slippery demonic hellslide of a front stoop. And not doing anywot about the roof, which can’t possible go more than another year in its current state of rot and that mofo better not come down over the server.
I’m pissed at Justin Trudeau, but I guess I don’t need to fill that in.
I’m being pretty much beyond, over and far past the line of being pissed off about Trump and his cronies, and now it’s just boredom mixed with terror, cause this is war.
I’m pissed off about…. damn. I’m done.