The hours are slipping by and as of 11:00 PM we will have broken all records for the driest month on record. The entire month of July with absolutely no rain. This trumps everything ever recorded. This one goes to the top of the list.
I got to thinking how we mark time, how we record the simplest of things. I guess it’s just in our make up. We certainly have become capable of doing so accurately with the technology that is now available. Still it comes down to viewpoints and perspectives.
This is likely the flaw when it comes to accuracy. Can you tell if something has been reported factually and without bias?
I am not certain.
At the moment I am on Commercial Drive. I was checking out a few shops and stopped in at Fets for a bite to eat. They’ve renovated and painted over the murals.
I wondered if they had changed ownership.
One of the first times I came here was over twenty years ago. It was in the evening and the place was packed. I was alone.
I felt in that moment so very conspicuous. The desire to talk and mingle was fighting to get out that night. It didn’t happen.
I had been working out. I had taken off a lot of weight. I looked great and yet I felt so incredibly exposed and raw.
No doubt the awkwardness that invaded me that evening so long ago prevented any one from approaching and speaking to me. I made it a point to not make eye contact.
This was my ‘hood for the majority of my life. It no longer is. Each time I come down here Commercial Drive becomes more of a stranger to me. I used to know it so well.
Slick pubs, Cafes and restaurants are now are opening. The eccentric shops and worn out restaurants with possibly the best coffees and food items are fast disappearing.
My head wandered back to Wazubeez’s which is no longer around. I would head up there on a Saturday night after my shift at the Slocan restaurant. Sometimes I was joined, other times I was on my own. I’d have an appy and a couple of pints. I got to know the servers and the DJ’s. At 2:00 AM I’d head home.
The Drive at one time had a host of characters that roamed the streets. I don’t know if they still inhabit the area.
At times it seems we are being swallowed by trends and appearances..
And here I am fighting cancer. Trying somehow in my disjointed way to make sense of all this. Perhaps I shouldn’t. It makes no sense really. It just is what it is.
I suppose I am seeking reassurance. Looking for some form of comfort in the old familiar. Funny, but it’s not there anymore. Things continue to change, as do I.
And I am here in this restaurant, alone as when I first came here, yet I don’t feel the isolation and disparity I experienced before.
Still there is that nostalgia, a melancholy sadness I suppose. Perhaps this expression is rather strong as I don’t want to go back. And I wonder what we are becoming.
I am fighting my fears once again. God, I am sick of this.
I have a book to release and this latest round with all the cancer stuff just has me feeling suspended.
A strange hysteria wants to erupt at times. As was the case yesterday when I was advised that 25 rounds of radiations were in order.
And I keep trying to right my world while those closest to me look at me with worried expressions and tears in their eyes.
I am trying to focus on so many things and this insipid cancer thing keeps creeping into my consciousness.
We had another firm move into our workspace with us. We are now sharing 5,095 sq. ft. of office space. Libby is my counterpart. She and I share a job title in our respective firms. I stood in her office and looked at how beautifully appointed it was. Art pieces, fresh flowers, decorative baskets adorned the space. It felt warm and inviting, unlike mine.
I have inhabited my space for 4 1/2 years now. It is plain and impersonal. Paper stacks, a computer, a printer, pens and calendars litter the area. Schedules are stuck to walls and a host of Post-It notes adorn the space reminding me a million little things that I would surely forget.
I don’t have planters lined up outside my office. I do have several plants around that are always in desperate need of water it seems I don’t have the latest in technology, and in truth, I am not really appreciated for the work I do.
In five years I have had one raise and no bonus in 3 years. Still, because of my frugal nature I accept the insult. It is a decent paying job at the end of the day.
Could I do better? Hell yes. But at the moment I have these health concerns and one thing, my office has been very supportive.
I always hope that I will be acknowledged for what I do but at the end of the day it pays the bills.
I hope the book does well. To transition into being a wordsmith would be sweet. Only time will tell if this is the case.
My haircut is a hit. Oddly enough I was thinking of one of my first sessions with James. After the sexual aspect of the session, I was looking like Frankenstein’s bride. Yup, a little scary.
James, in his gentle manner, suggested that I look into a new hairstyle. Of course, in my super sensitive and defensive manner I got in his face a bit regarding his remark.
Hell, if anyone knows I have got shit for hair at times, its me. And after hot, sweaty sex it is safe to say I am a mess.
All of my little foibles are slowly falling by the wayside. Slipping off these shoulders that have carried their weight far too long.
Emotions so completely all over the place. Will I ever get to that state of being that is just content?
I just hope once all this has passed, all the cancer shit, I will have grown stronger and wiser as a result. Let’s hope.
Power of One by Nancy 