A Crisis Line Compromised Weekend

I am working today. It's Sunday. Most of the people on the streetcar this morning (REALLY goddamned early in the morning)were old ladies and well dressed european men on their way to church. It was certainly a different crowd than the one during the week in the afternoon. There is a decided lack of crack users on the Sunday streetcar along Queen Street at 6am. Maybe they're at church, too. Although, driving through Parkdale, I did see two guys try and light up as the streetcar passed. I'm not saying they were crack users, but it's pretty obvious what two guys in hoodies hanging out in a doorway, shakily passing back and forth a glass pipe are up to. I'm just saying.

Anyway, this is not my regular shift. I prefer late afternoon to night. This 7 am until 3pm shit is like being on acid. I have no idea what day it is and although I should be tired at this hour, I couldn't sleep even if I wanted to. Or it's not right to sleep on the job. Or something.

The vibe here on a Sunday is more than relaxed. When you are doing absolutely nothing but reading and surfing the internet the calls that come in really feel like they are interrupting you. How dare they have a personal crisis at 7 am on a Sunday? Don't they know I have newspapers to read and emails to send? Shouldn't you be at church? THAT'S your problem. Go to church. Ask God to care, I'm busy. (See? Mornings don't agree with me...)

I didn't work Friday. I got this shift at this ridiculous hour because I traded shifts with someone who had a Jewish holiday thingy. I thought it would be good for the karma, even though I avoid morning like it was an infectious disease. Fine and dandy, except, I was supposed to be here yesterday. I fucked up the dates and they were sans bilingual coverage on the phones yesterday. OOps. So I show up this morning ready to reap the benefits of a little good karmasation, ready to work, full of piss and vinegar...only to come in and read several emails of people panicking yesterday because there is one bilingual person and french people are waitng for over 20 minutes on hold. Double oops.

Anyway I'm here now and apparently another bilingual called in sick so I am actually here, by chance, to help this poor dude who worked all night and was going to stay until 3pm. Trooper. So he got to go home. And I'm here. Yep. Here.


It was just suggested to me by one of my co-workers that I get another chair for my feet so I can kick back and have a nap. THAT'S how busy it is. My kinda paycheque. Now if only we could smoke in here...

Might...fall...asleep

I used to like the library

Since my move away from ye oldey chap, I have virtually no money.

My paycheque is divided as such:

1.Toronto rent? Check. And ouch. 2. Massive Rogers bill because I decided to pay a few months longer than necessary for services I wasn't using, at an apartment I wasn't in because I was trying to prove to my ex that me leaving with NONE of the stuff we bought together didn't bother me? Check. 3. Food and not such an amount of it that the grocery bags (reusable ones, yes, my enviro crazed friends)are so heavy I can't walk home without permanent back damage? Check. 4. Toiletries?...aka, soap all kinds. Dishes, clothes, house, me. All those things need cleaning products. I can't live without cleaning products. Windex is my friend. 5. Cosmetic enhancements? Makeup for end of month acne and poor self image? Check. Birth control pill because I know babies are "in " this year but I look better in jeans without an elastic waistband? Check.

And there, you pretty much have it. Not much left over. Fuck all left over, really. I am sleeping on an air bed from Canadian Tire, people. My couch is left over from the last broad that lived there, and once, when I dropped my remote control between the cushions I pulled out...yes...a gasp is appropropriate..a syringe. I love Toronto. So warm, so cuddly. (pssst! somebody call the police...)

I also have no computer and am writing this from a library in my lakeshore neighborhood. I have a library card for the first time in over 10 years. It's neat. Everything's free.

I got my head out of my ass about the paying his bills and soon I will have enough to save. I will save and buy a computer, a proper bed and all of the tummy rumblings because I am rationing food will be gone. I'll probably look back and envy the freedom I have now. I'll be able to look back and see where the wave crested and I finally felt like me.

I have never been happier.

Oh Lord Won't You Buy Me A Fuel Efficient SUV?

I'm glad I don't drive. Not only because my drinking past would have made it an extreme sport but, jesus, have you seen the price of gas?

I'm totally fucking kidding. People who complain about the price of gas are starting to get on my last nerve. Take the subway and please get your head out of your own ass. We are such a bunch of freaking automatons in North America. The price of gas goes up and we flounder like they turned the power off in the entire country.

I made the move to Toronto over a year ago now, to be with my science lovin' boyfriend and although that didn't work out I still harbour a deep and thundering passion for questioning why so many massive wankers drive hulking, gas-drunk, family-of-twelve-mobiles in this traffic crammed metropolis? What the fuck do you do for a living that you need a car that big? Are you doing freelance snow removal to supplement your income as an inveestment banker?

And I hate all these people who say it's because they "have a family". I was in a family once. Three kids. We made the 16 hour drive to Nova Scotia every year from Montreal with no seatbelts in our Ford. My brother would draw imaginary lines on the back seat between us and swear if I crossed the line with a even a toe I'd get a beating. I remember the hours of adult nerve grating enjoyment we got out of "I spy with my little eye, something that is....."

These spoiled damn kids now with their DVD players and lounge seating...where is the fun in that? How is mom supposed to make that awkward reach-around to smack her kids bare legs if they are soothed out watching Finding Nemo? I think something of rudimentary importance to the family unit is being tampered with all this distraction and comfortable plush seating.


Jesus, I've just managed another Andy Rooney blog rant. Somebody please send money quick. Poverty is speeding up the aging process at an alarming rate.