writing back to the world

Yes, there was an election. No, it isn’t settled. Even if the worst happens, the world survived before, and it will keep surviving. My story isn’t done, neither is yours.

This is a long boring text-heavy oversharing post, ya been told.

I’ve written back to Jan G. I WROTE 1.5 PAGES ABOUT FANFIC in a four page letter. Which is a terrible thing to do to a person I love, but I am a difficult cuss, however entertaining.

Got more video of Buster – two pawclap catches in super rapid succession and MISSED video of a ‘catch with two paws, eat out of one paw’ including some most amusing body English.

Practiced already, always good to get it into the front of the day when I’m not interfering with feetsball watching.

Rewatched Oblivion. What a strange and beautiful movie.

Phone appointment with doc yesterday. Before I can get meds for the condition I’ve been diagnosed for I have to get an EEG – ah, atypical migraines, is there anything you can’t mess up. Anyway, you don’t take something like a stimulant if you’ve got vascular or other problems in your skull, so this is all part of the process and hopefully I won’t have to fret too long for an appointment. Also, on Friday I have my first phone appointment with the dietician at the diabetes clinic. I do feel better for having reduced carbs and sugar (less day napping, strangely improved sex drive, which is WHHHYYYYYYY are you doing this to me when the landscape is barren of opportunity), but the cravings KEEEEL MEEEE.  In current heavy rotation: “Holy Crap” cereal. It is a third of my daily fibre requirement in less than half a cup of food, which is rather remarkable.

In eighteen months I’ll be completely broke. Jeff and I are brainstorming a way to a housing solution which might look anything like:

1- we part ways, me to live in Van with rellies, him to live in Vic

2 – we part ways, him to live ‘somewhere on the Island’, me to live with whatever relative or friend will put me up, in whatever province that might happen to be – which essentially means BC or Ontario….

3 – we keep living here having found another thousand dollars a month to afford it lying around in the street

4 – I find a job that pays well enough to be worth it and is not so dangerous and exhausting and with such a long commute that it’s liable to kill me and so continue to live somewhere in Van

5 I completely give up on Vancouver since the personal relationships that made it so much fun have been completely destroyed by COVID and do not appear to be coming back to life any time soon but where that means I might live I have no idea, just that I wouldn’t be here.

6. Jeff leaves, probably for the Island, and Katie and Alex and possibly one other rent-payer come onboard so we keep this super inexpensive rental with tons of free parking in the family.

7. I sell literally everything I own so I do not have to pay for transporting or storing it while I ‘make up my mind’ about where I’m going to be living and get everything I own into one 8x8x8 box. This isn’t Marie Kondo, this is ‘how many guitars do you want to carry while you’re homeless?’ time.

8. I magically find a non-job way to make money and wouldn’t that be something.

9. I go back to school to learn how to do something that other people want to pay me for, when I have no idea what that might be.

10 Jeff and I were (very) jokingly thinking of dropping a tiny house in the fOlks’ side yard so I can have practice space ( i b loud) and my own bedroom. I can’t imagine the neighbours experiencing that as a necessary thrill. I started whining about how I really wanted a yurt, given that the gazebo of remembrance is iggzackly the right size for that, but honestly (this will be the first time my mother is reading about this so imagine o,O her face looking at it o,O why are you wanting to wreck my yard when after a quarter of a century it’s the way I want it, and the answer is, I don’t. I want Canada to have a proper housing policy but have a strange way of putting it, and no, I’m not agitating, I’m cogitating) that’s just a rude thing to even suggest. I am bad. So Bad.

Very puzzling, but I remind myself that John didn’t worry about any shit like this and he died before worrying about it would have even become relevant. I mean, I should worry, somewhat, but I might do a lot of worrying for nothing, if you know what I mean, and no, I’m not suicidal.

I’m really glad I have a doctor I can joke with about suicidal ideation. She wanted to put me on Wellbutrin and I was liek NOOOOOOO last time I was on Wellbutrin – this would be at least fifteen years ago – I got both suicidal AND homicidal ideation (I’m chopping veggies and thinking about burying the knife in Katie as she walks by was the precipitating event that made me go NEXT PLEASE) and my sleep wENt wOnkY… so I said, “So no offence but it’s strrrrongly contrrrraindicated” and we both had a good laugh. It has been ten years almost since I had any suicidal feelings; I had a bad couple of days recently but I looked in the mirror and said HEY DERE migraines, you fooled me once but this is just a bad mood because of the FUCKING U.S. PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION poking my weird brain chemistry into high gear (calice, tabernac, mon criss) and why not turn that into a song or a poem instead? Much more useful. Write a letter. Make a pizza for your brO. Be happy you talked to a psychiatrist who took your concerns seriously and gave you something to think about as you got a diagnosis you’ve been trying to get for almost 30 years AND FUCK YOU TORONTO DOCTOR WHO SAID I WAS DRUG-SEEKING and didn’t freak out when you told him you liked opium (which I’ve only ever had twice, and not in the last decade, but that shit’s awesome) and have never misused speed except for that one time you got blasted on black mollies and beer when you were, what, twenty? I’m 62 this month, I want my hard drug excesses to be well centred in the rear view….Also he didn’t mock my migraine/ghost story, just said that at least 30 percent of the population who don’t meet diagnostic for ‘crazy’ have events like this happen, and provided that they’re rare they are no cause for concern. Absolutely delightful to talk to someone like that, and I told my GP so.

And for a palate cleanser, the MIGRATION OF THE TADPOLES.





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Born 1958. I write, I sing, I watch TV, I try to fulfill my responsibilities.

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