At 12:41 pm today police received a distress call that a young man in his early twenties had opened fire on students with a semi-automatic weapon oustide Dawson College.
I can't formulate thoughts right now. My thoughts are with the victims and their loved ones. My thoughts are also with the parents of the young man who carried out the shooting.
Didn't we all say this couldn't happen to us? Didn't Michael Moore tell us how safe we were? I went to Dawson College. I smoked outside where some of the kids were shot. I am watching the loop of video on the news channels, the reporters asking these kids how they felt and I can put myself there. I am grateful for my life right now and that feels selfish.
I need to find a way to help, because I know there is a problem, one that none of us can clearly identify, one that we want to put the word "crazy" on and walk away from like nothing can be done. I know better. I know there is love in this world...but so many of us have lost it.
"Mother, mother
There's too many of you crying
Brother, brother, brother
There's far too many of you dying
You know we've got to find a way
To bring some lovin' here today" - Marvin Gaye
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Monday, September 04, 2006
What happened to August?
So I don't work Mondays anymore. Pretty clever huh? I say I hate Mondays and that they are to blame for suicides and car accidents and my general malaise associated with working at all...and now I don't work Mondays.
I thought it would be a perk, something that would make the revulsion of working another shit eating job less dizzying (would you like a cappuccino with your pile of feces?). But no. But never.
Even without working Mondays I am a bundle of nerves. I am consummed with worry about small, ridiculous, inconsequential things. "Will I have time to do the laundry today?" can be a make or break the day question. What I want to do is crawl back into bed pull the covers up tight and shut everything out. Hard to do when you live with someone. They do that pesky expecting stuff from you thing. Like expecting you to not rip their head off and cry when they ask you a question.
I am worried about money. All the time. And I see money walk in and out of the salon every day. Big money with teeth. Privileged people who spend their lives shopping and getting their hair and nails done. I am envious and angry around these people. Most of them treat me like I am a dirty servant. And maybe I am. Maybe this is my lot.
Getting out of bed is a start I guess.
I thought it would be a perk, something that would make the revulsion of working another shit eating job less dizzying (would you like a cappuccino with your pile of feces?). But no. But never.
Even without working Mondays I am a bundle of nerves. I am consummed with worry about small, ridiculous, inconsequential things. "Will I have time to do the laundry today?" can be a make or break the day question. What I want to do is crawl back into bed pull the covers up tight and shut everything out. Hard to do when you live with someone. They do that pesky expecting stuff from you thing. Like expecting you to not rip their head off and cry when they ask you a question.
I am worried about money. All the time. And I see money walk in and out of the salon every day. Big money with teeth. Privileged people who spend their lives shopping and getting their hair and nails done. I am envious and angry around these people. Most of them treat me like I am a dirty servant. And maybe I am. Maybe this is my lot.
Getting out of bed is a start I guess.
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