Saturday, October 03, 2009

The dark place is dark on the train.

Why is it that I only ever have time to update when I’m in transit? I shouldn’t even have time for this – I’m supposed to be failing, I mean marking, the assignments of the little nuggets I TA, while simultaneously rewriting my thesis proposal and having a newspaper story meeting via email. But Via Rail’s wifi is down, so now that I’ve had a celebratory nap and sandwich, here I am. With time on my hands.

Ok, I don’t actually need wifi to mark assignments or rewrite my thesis, but I’m using it as an excuse. Eat me.

I’m having a life-fail kind of week. I haven’t really slept in a month, my knockers are definitely shrinking, my apartment smells like garbage, and I might have to whore myself for rent money. If anyone will have me. The fact that my uterus is making me want to simultaneously weep and stab people in the face isn’t helping things. This bitch will cut you, and then hold your hand and ask you to tell me I’m pretty.

I went to the bar last night for a reprieve from the constant writing. I was so stressed about work that I smoked 4 cigarettes. Bad. Bad!! Don’t go into journalism, kids. It gives you cancer and probably the clap. We’re all whores.

Anyway, my Dad drove me to the train station today. He didn’t help things, either.

ThePeach: *opens apartment door* Hi, Dad. I’m just running a few minutes behind because I had to call a source. I need 10 minutes. And sorry about all the dirty dishes but I haven’t been home much. And if it smells like cat pee, it’s because the cat peed on my globe and mail yesterday. I threw it out but the smell is really lingering.
Dad: *scans room in horror* Jesus, Peach. I know you’re not so busy that you can’t take 10 minutes to clean up! What’s wrong with you??
ThePeach: Grad School is wrong with me.
Dad: Have you paid the dentist yet?
ThePeach: Fuck! The dentist!
Dad: Getting calls from creditors isn’t going to help your financial problems. Why are you such a train-wreck?? Get your shit together! Have you taken FauxHawk back yet?
ThePeach: *grits teeth* He. Doesn’t. Want. Me. Back. Father.
Dad: Of course he does. You’re just being stubborn. That ship is going to sail, you know.
ThePeach: I can’t…even…this is…too much…right now
Dad: Oh, shit. I forgot. Have a good birthday this weekend.
ThePeach: *hysterical weeping*

To recap: I live in a heap of my own filth, I can’t pay my bills, and I’m going to die alone.

And all this from a 55-year-old single man who is seriously contemplating growing his own weed.

So now I’m in the dark place again. I’m typing this with my hood on and my face pressed against the train window. I may or may not have cried in the tiny, aluminum bathroom.

But things are looking up. I’m on my way to TheBigCity for a reunion weekend with my women/husband. It will be TheHippy, Cleavage, TheHubby, QueenB, Workahol and TheCorporate – together again. I’m salivating with excitement. And at the thought of the $200 worth of sushi we will order for dinner, and that I will vomit up 4 hours later, after my 12th jager bomb.

I’m also really looking forward to taking this disaster out on the town. Let’s see who I can head-butt this time.

I leave you with this:

A comedian on the CBC radio show “The Debaters” yesterday, on why womanhood isn’t dependent on motherhood:

“Yes, my female body has the innate biological urge to procreate. But sometimes it also has the innate biological urge to put on sweatpants, eat a tub of ice cream, cry, and shoot people. And I manage to ignore most of that one.”


UPDATE: Life is amazing again. I love my friends so much. I just ate half the ocean worth of sushi. Last night I drank a 2L bottle of wine and then watched a porno called "Man Country." Tonight I'm going to the club to drink 5000 gins, dance like a rightous whore, and make out with everything with legs.

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