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2000-11-02 || 9.0a pre-work stuff 1 there will be ten streets named Victoria; 2 there will be several streets named St-Jean, several St-Annes, and several StLouis streets; 3 the same will happen with parks and other stuff; 4 the cost of changing all these names so that mail won't go to the wrong addresses could be in the hundreds of millions. I know which way I'm voting in the referendum. I just wish the government would pay attention to the outcome. Speaking of which, the Liberals have unveiled their re-election platform, and I am prompted to ask what the hell they called an election for. The damned Red Book is full of re-hasehd and re-heated promises from their last fahking election campaign. Enough. ********** What the *HELL* happened to all the nice little notes on my Analyser page? What happened to everyone else's? When is something around here going to *work* properly? ********** This fahking terrifies me. ********** I am glad to say that Shift Magazine has laid off its entire staff following a disastrous attempt to break into the US market. Now, I don't usually like stories of Canadian cultural icons taking beatings, but in this case, their new direction coincided nicely with an utter free-fall in terms of content. They had gone from being a really cool, though sometimes flaky 'zine for the digerati, to being a really flaky, though sometimes cool magazine for the digeratus-wannabe. Serves 'em right. Basterdz. ********** A few words to Kiwifruit: Honey, I desperately wish you weren't going through all that shite. It is a major letdown when that wonnerful person turns out to be an inconsiderate fahker. It happens more often than not, it seems, eh? I think it's because guys are all into being the gallant gentleman right up until they feel that you're no longer exotic. When you become normal, the gallantry drops off and they get scared of waking up next to the same woman everyday for the rest of their lives. I don't know if I'm right. I've never made a very good man (curses to my matriarchical family!), but thatseems to be what I'm picking up here. A friend of mine once put it this way: 'Show me the most gorgeous woman in the world, and I'll show you a man who's still tired of fucking her.' Inelegant, but I think that a lot of guys are schmucks that way. But is he worth it, Kiwi? In as big a city as you live in, surely you can find a good man somewhere. ********** Diarmuid is home from the hospital. he's got a big, ugly gash and stiches that wrap about a third of the way around his poor little head, but the cyst is finally gone. I still couldn't afford it, but my maman finally took pity on me and loaned me the scratch to do it. Lover took the money in and tried to pick up the cat. they wouldn't let her have him because she wasn't his owner and they wanted to speak to me and yadda yadda yadda. She pulled out all the Lover-Stops and came home with my baby. I would HATE to have been that vet. I love that girl like nobody's business. When I got home, I went into the kitchen to find him. I saw my poor, drugged-up Diarmuid stumble towards me and cried. ********** Every year, I spend from New Year's to March buried in the thickest, blackest depression I will ever feel. It is a fight to keep afloat, and I can hardly keep from biting the people around me until they bleed. It is a season of self-destructive thoughts and wildly swinging moods. It takes all my little change to get up for work in the morning, and everything else to come back home at night instead of curling up in a laneway somwhere. It is an ugly-arse time, both for me and for those around me. It's stronger than I am, I think sometimes, but I've been fighting it off with more success in later years, though I still become so wrapped up in my own agony that those around me think that I don't care about them. The truth is, I don't. I can't even think about them. It's not something I do on purpose. I used to fail classes because of it, I almost lost a job once. One year, I came back from a New Year's trip to Vancouver and had a nervous breakdown. Last night Lover told me about a week every February when she has to do self-destructive things to get through the week. She told me that she would try not to this year, but should she fall down, I would have to be supportive throughout it. The details are no one's business but ours, so don't even ask. To-day on the m�tro, I looked back over my past relationships and discovered that only one of my lovers has ever made it through February with me.
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shite One last little note... - 09.21.2006 de-stressing, biking and terrorism - 06.06.2006 Mildly stressed... - 05.29.2006 More crime stupidity - 05.28.2006 Scary stuff - 05.25.2006
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