Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Decadence is heroin and cake on Tuesday

As I was sitting here before 5 am in the warmth of our little space with toast and coffee hunting and pecking at our computer, I was trying to define "decadence".  This coffee boasts Fairly Traded fresh beans that I just ground up with an electric grinder then steeped for 4 minutes in boiled clean water in my French press for 4 minuets while I waited for my locally sourced grainy bread to leap from the toaster.
Where was I? Oh yes...trying to define decadence.
Merriam Webster defines it thus: Behaviour that shows low morals and a great love of money, fame love etc.
I don't think I like that definition. I'll look elsewhere. Hold tight.

Decadence (originally meaning "decline") is a perceived decay in standards, morals, dignity, religious faith, or skill at governing among the members of the elite of a very large social structure, such as an empire or nation state.
Nope, that isn't right

: the behavior or attitude of people who allow themselves to do what they want or who allow other people to do what they want
: the act of doing something that you enjoy but that is usually thought of as wrong or unhealthy
: something that is done or enjoyed as a special pleasure

That's better, sort of.
I'll leave you to your own conscience and round tables with peers to come up with levels of acceptable decadence.
As you know, or perhaps you don't so I'll tell you, I drive truck for a local non-profit that provides food etc to people with fewer resources than you and me. Daily I rub shoulders with and in some cases, cry with these people. (you may recall my mentioning lunch with Dave who damned near tried as he described a crappy chicken burger lunch as a rare treat)
Apparently, people who dwell in Single Room Occupancy Hotels experience a level of indulgence. 
Imagine if you can, that owning one fresh tub of lime flavoured Liberte yogurt being called decadent. I heard a woman say this very thing yesterday.
On Boxing Day, we visited a music supply store and I noticed a white Lamborghini that looked quick even as it sat still. The owner bought enough equipment to outfit 2 guitars on stage...everything apparently. Not sure what that all entails but it sounded decadent to my untrained ear.
Perhaps indulgence IS the word I'm looking for?
I plan to celebrate New Years Eve with dear friends later today and I'm really looking forward to it, but for many on Earth, its just another journey around the sun. (many won't have another after this one)
I'm going to play board games, smoke a cigar, drink some beer, eat too much food and laugh and talk into the wee hours of next year.
Indulgence. Gluttony etc. etc.
Yesterday, I received a cake from a vender in the shape of a Christmas tree which was decorated with colourful frosting. You know the type. I'm guessing it weighed 2 kilos and I'm not sure that any of my friends would ever purchase a beast.
Well, I dropped it and it got kind of smeared and buggered. When this happens to product, its kind of embarrassing to put it on shelves in the venues where our clients too often theses items are composted. Even we have standards for them poor folk.
There was a woman beside my truck who was twitching spastically, weaving quickly and looking very unrested and nervously thirsty. (this mannerism in the world of addiction is called tweaking. Look it up) We chatted briefly but she was distracted by a tray of cupcakes. Interrupting me, with a croaky voice that matched her scabbed face, swollen arms and hands but not her figure, she asked if she could have them.
I looked at her darting, frantic eyes and asked if she wanted that cake.
She jumped up and down a few times and shrieked REALLY?
I gave her the battered cake and she ran off with it but dropped her scant belongings about 30 feet away. She picked up her bag, make up, needles and smokes, fumbled with the cake and scurried off to no doubt share the sugary feast.
Happy New Year
Look after yourselves.

Sunday, December 28, 2014

My heart was kicked down the street...but not deliberately

Since I was about 5, I've understood the gloomy preminition that Vancouver lies timidly flirting with sea level awaiting "the big one" to shake some of her municipalities from their foundations of terra nova into a wet grave. A rather catastrophic earthquake is always on tonight's menu and for decades we've had lots of foreplay leading up to the great date that everyone will talk about.
Fortunately, up to now, the dish hasn't been available...but damn we wait!
Shelter is the issue. Bugger the Government, I fear we'll all be on our own so its best to make a plan now. Get a kit, get an evacuation plan, get a meeting place. (remember to vote)
Anyhoo, I went for a walk tonight around East Van with a crappy little cigar and a small sized bottled of beer, which incidentally, I opened with a tube of lip balm that my niece made by hand.
So I wandered in exactly the wrong direction of the nearest pub. My wife had a mate over and they were practising music for their upcoming Translink busking zone gigs (a big deal in Vancouver) so I wanted to give them space.
As I walked about, it was evident that Vancouver is feeling the beginning stages of the spiteful exhales of seasonal Yukon breath. We're not used to this, ya Northern bully! We're at sea level down here and we're delicate!
Due East, the prairies often get stupid cold winters, but they're around 3400 feet above the sea, we sit at the Ocean's humid mercy, and that cold air doesn't just flirt with your skips foreplay and gets straight in there!
I've lived on the prairies and HATED the long cold winters, but I'm here to tell you that -6C at sea level is easily crowding -12C or better on the flat lands of Canada. The polar bear swim separates the men from the boys in a very visual way! I love that swim!
Anyhoo, there I was, strutting up Fraser St. in a grand ol' mood in search of a cheap pint. The Canadian Legion which by fate is mere blocks from my home seemed like the best bet but it was shut. I guess the old vets were in bed. (I shouldn't admit that I tried doors and windows, but I wanted a pint)
Seems like I'm rambling don't it? Go grab a cup of tea...I'll wait.
Ok, I'm back. I just chased 3 coyotes down the street in my boxers...cold out there but I had the fear for neighbourhood pets.
So anyway, I'm walking up Fraser heading towards that Legion and I passed by a bank. Inside the automated bank area I saw a scruffy man of about 60 with a bindle and a trash bag possibly containing a sleeping bag. He was seemingly in a trance. I guessed that he was cheating the cold.
The Legion was shut...I had about $7 coffee change (yup, spare coffee change) so I thought I'd give it to the guy if he was still there.
He was there, I went in and offered him the money. Here's the convo:
Excuse me sir, I have some extra coins, may I give them to you?
Oh shit, I'm in your way, I'll leave.
No you're not. Be still friend, I have some coins for you. (shaking them in my hand for emphasis)
I'm fucking leaving! I'm fucking leaving!
Please sir, I have a few coins for you. It's extra, I'd like you to have it.
Don't fucking talk to me. I'm leaving. Leave me alone!
He angrily left the warmth of the bank and I stood there awkwardly staring at the change in my hand feeling like a complete and utter failure. I pissed off a guy living rough.
He skulked up Fraser, j-walked in front of a bus and ran into another warm banking area.
I chose to quickly walk past as my change weighed heavily in my pocket, not unlike the chains dragging down Jacob Marley. Talk about a buzz kill.
He has no bed. No crust. Perhaps no sense. I was on my way home to  a warm bed and a warmer wife.
Life isn't fair.
So here I am at home. It's about 12 degrees C in here, I have a glass of wine and another human that adores me. I must admit I have pangs of guilt at leaving that man at the bank. But as my other homeless friends have told me, they own nothing, therefore they have nothing to lose. They don't fear the big earthquake, or floods, or cold of winter. I wonder who is truly free?

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Looking for the crusts of bread I meant to leave

Here on the West Coast of BC, we don't really experience winter in the traditional Canadian way.
We get RAIN, sleet and the odd dump of wet snow that buggers off within 2 days (It does however completely cripple the buses...) However, the chances of tightening up your skates to hit the ice on any local pond, river or waterway is merely fantasy. Best use those gifted hockey sticks to annoy your neighbours by passing tins down the alleys like we used to.
Back in the 70"s, my parents (new to Canada and evidently had heard of winter horrors) bought me a steel SpeedAway sled. I was the first on my block to have such a relic that was shite useless on damp snow slopped grades on top of even the steepest of green grassy hills. The sled dug in fast rupturing my internal organs as all of the other kids with more in tune parents whizzed past on wooden toboggans, plastid dishes and saucers.
Still, I love my parents no end! Fond memories of Harry trying his damnedest to shove me down the hill on Burnaby Mountain at the (then Teahouse) to no avail as everyone else blasted by with shrieks of joy and terror.
Envy? No. Embarrassment ? Yes
What the hell...flash ahead 40 years.
How are you after you've been misunderstood AGAIN?
Mum and dad rolled with it.
Chose your personal scenario. The one where you thought that you were prfectly concise and clear and things went sideways...or at least, wobbly. Maybe driving directions, cooking instruction or trying your damnedest to convey the meeting place.
or your point of view....
I'm first to admit that I hate being wrong (and I'll fight it like you do!)  But I REALLY hate being seen as wrong when I'm accurate!
How do you respond when you're right?
Like a fool, I shut up 8 of 10 times. But I don't know why.
CAVEAT:  it's a very long calendar that I'm right 8/10
Are we frightened to seem holier than thou? To come off  hyper- intellectual , snotty or in desperate need to evaluate ourselves?
Maybe...God bless us, we don't want dummies to feel dumb.
I ramble again...sorry.
On a few occasions this week end I felt like I was the lesser humanoid in the room.
I'm willing to bet that this was due in part to my own broken perception of what was occurring at any given time, but...if you look upon posts in any news story, people are harsh! We've lost the Love!
So all this to say,  without the foresight of proofread, I'm all right mate, I'm no longer expecting your validation or approval but I crave your input!

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Happenings that could be hypothetical to protect the innocent

I spend odd hours earning meat and drink for my family. Some are in no way cut out to deal with what I see, hear and do...but I love it.
It's damned shame mind you, that the jobs I have are needed.
I drive a truck for a legit non-profit picking up good day-old food and clothes etc etc from various venders. The spoils of my day are then sold for pennies on the dollar (of the vender's retail) in our "markets" to people approved by various agencies who fall under a few categories.
People suffering from mental health issues and therefore not fully employable.
Recipients of social assistance (various reasons here...don't judge until you buy a lunch and LISTEN)
The aged with no physical means of support.
Poverty striven substance addicted people.
To get the likes of good bananas at 25 cents a pound or 9 grain bread for 80 cents a loaf...beautiful!
We offer support, council, direction....
This job is far better for me than working as a number in a vague machine creating profit for some removed fat cat at the top of a corporate food chain.
This is street level, gut squeezing real, hands on front line work. I LOVE IT!
Weekly, I drop off a gorgeous food hamper at a resource that is in exhistance for desperate sex trade workers in various stages of mental anguish and addiction.
When I walk in there and greet those women, my heart quickens. Dope steals your youth and working in the sex trade dulls your soul. I wish I had a magic wand. No personal wealth...just safe relief for so many of these women I see regularly.
I drop off a huge loud of food at a men's rehab. These guys are sobering for me. Theres 29 steps from street level up to their space and the men cart my wares up them. Some of these guys can't manage the heavy burden of anything more than a 12 pack of soda. Stop and ponder that.
During my week I also see gorgeous, healthy women in the prime of their lives. The mental gymnastics I must do is dizzying. 
I bid fare well to a fit, healthy, attractive European dancer who's under 30 and 17 minutes later I'm with desperate drug addicted women her age and younger. That's a mind fug if you like!
I divide 400 pounds of carrots and apples between 4 different  elementary schools during the week.
This gives me great joy! (after the mental gymnastics remember) 
The patience of a Music Teacher with 20-odd 10 year olds singer worse than I do is surreal! She always has a smile and a wave regardless of the sound of these brilliant songbirds.
And the joy on the faces of the very little kids when they get to glue glitter to their art project. THIS, is breathing deep!
I'd be amiss to not mention Ray, Gerald, Paul, Clayton, John, John and Steve in this post. These are the men that are not far different from me that sleep outdoors or in shitty SRO's in East Vancouver.
I look forward to chatting with these guys. Nothing to prove, nothing to lose. Seems like a nice life in all honesty. No clocks. No bills. No agendas.
Today...for lunch, I was able to pass on a care package to a gaggle of hippies that are opposing something that I fully support them in. Talk about LOVE, gratitude and heart warming smiles! 
I've nothing to moan about! 
Yeah, truth is that I'm on meds for depression. I lose focus too often, forget the good and get pathetically sad! I misenterpret stuff that other humans say which leads to a spiral of the ol'  "woe is me's" But I reiterate, I really have nothing to moan about do I ?
So, here I am tonight, in my home after 16 hours of work that nets me just under $230 but our bills are paid and I didn't exploit anyone earning it! 
My conscience is clear. I'm fed. I'm warm.
How are YOU?

Thursday, December 18, 2014

The spiral effect of the cognitive illusion

Have you ever been locked in a cycle of thought or emotion where you truly believe you've been taken for granted? Have you ever hoped that people would see you, sense you, hear you, engage you? Especially the people that say they love you? The ones that are meant to know you?
Have you arrived at some point where perhaps you're almost finished trying to get someone's attention? Do you feel that perhaps they should know by now?
Of course, all of this might be accentuated where strangers are concerned. Especially that gorgeous man with that French accent, smart dark suit, perfect fluevogs and distractingly, piercing blue eyes. The guy with the smile where white teeth peek through perfect lips above a slightly stubbled chiselled jaw. Yeah...that guy.
He's too perfect. Too dreamy and dare I say leg wetting? But if HE noticed!
No...I mean do you long to be recognized by any typical person, not a fantasy girl? To not feel as though you've been taken for granted again and again?
I'm not talking about an eye-level plaque set in granite or a parade marking THE day you actually did something shattering or even a street named after you in a Capital City...
I'm simply talking about KNOWING deep in your soul, communicated to you in your own "language"...that someone out there actually gives a shit about you, thinks of you and has taken the time to show and tell you regularly.
Not critiquing you or setting your deeds on a golden scale of righteousness. Clean slate stuff, not earned or begged for. Just beautiful, real, gut level community HEY MAN I NOTICE YOU stuff.
Yeah. That.
I used to hang around a few guys that were involved with a larger Group of guys that I should probably not mention by name, but they had a saying: THE GOOD WE DO, NO ONE REMEMBERS, THE BAD WE DO, NO ONE FORGETS.
I think that these thugs get the point.
We all need hugs dude.
Tonight is a low night for me. Today spiraled out of my cognitive control by about 6:15am and here I sit 14 hours later still feeling battered and alone as if I were on some isolated island alone that is shrouded in a heavy, cold fog.
I was alone the last time I felt like this, and tried to watch a doco on Jim Crow. It showed in detail the horrific way Blacks were so very ill treated in America, but I had to quit watching.
In addition to the sickening feeling in the depths of my stomach about this history, the images of lynchings and hangings found my mind scanning our home thinking about areas that would support my weight...
I had to switch it off and went quickly to the sanctuary of outdoors looking for racoons. Racoons are safer than my thoughts at most times.
Kind of sounds like I'm playing the Victim Card here, but you need to know...I work more than full time, do other activities besides paid labour, help people, check in on people physically and electronically and call my ol' mum regularly. I'm healthily distracted.
But my brain seems to be my greatest enemy at the moment and between it and the Devil...sniper attacks are damned accurate, cruel and timely!
I've had valuable conversations with a few close friends lately. I hear their struggles, recognize their anguish. Together we scream for relief in an empty make believe corridor in some psychiatric hospital. The more you plead, the crazier you appear...
So therein lies the rub.
Do you stay on course with your meds and therapy, suck it up and shut up until that dangerous point where it almost gets unbearable and then go chase after raccoons and Ocean breezes?
Today, under the shadow of 10,000 crows, in spite of my skull crushing into my eye sockets, I cried in the pissing rain at the Ocean.
I was on my own...but not alone...or so I thought.

Saturday, December 13, 2014

thinking is the best way to travel

During the 70's when I was a kid, life in Metro Vancouver was spent outdoors shine or rain! Indoors on the West Coast to us kids was reserved for punishment. Groundings, detentions at school, brief community imposed curfews and the like.
Harry (see previous posts) instilled one of his apparent truths deep within me;  "outdoors was IN and indoors was OUT." Mum would call me and Harry "blue assed flies" due to our evident never sitting still in one place for too long lifestyles.
Next to his participation in granting me passage to Earth, to me, Harry's greatest gift was passing along this craving to breathe deep.
Looking back, we lived poor and often resided in industrial districts. My first school was a 16 block walk away from our gravel (mud) driveway house that sat inconspicuously between a large industrial bakery and a steel fabrication shop. Our Northern view of the Lions was obscured by twin cranes that would begin to groan metallic protests every day at 7 am from the metal salvage yard that lay just beyond Harry's garden teeming with runner beans, rhubarb, potatoes, swede and "good quality horse shit for me veg"
After school hours were spent walking through ditches, short cuts through people's yards, climbing trees and throwing stones.
At the week end, marvellous adventures would begin. Beach combing with friends, climbing Burnaby Mountain or all day bus passes for 25 cents that afforded us trips into Vancouver proper where we'd sneak peeks into the strip joints through curtain cracks and ride elevators in skyscrapers.
We'd steal toilet rolls and throw them off roof tops cheering loudly into the concrete jungle as ribbons of white twisted earthward.
Security guards chased us from buildings and malls, we'd gather coins tossed in fountains and watch for revealing occurrences as skirted women rounded the windy corner at Burrard and Georgia.
Our favourite meal was plunky chips from a stereotypically fat and sweaty fry cook at a place called Ben's Eat Out. The name in itself made the place a legend.
Old school police would run after us and smack us in the back of the head when we got mouthy. They'd lie to us and tell us that they were going to tell our parents we were in Vancouver if we didn't behave. We believed them.
Gastown wasn't the sad overpriced trendy smug area that you see now. It had character, history and you could feel that this city started here.
We'd look at the one or two shops selling Canada trinkets and not quite understand why anyone would buy them?
Skid row was a safer, vibrant hub of amusement for us than it is now.
The odd heroin addict stayed in the shadows of Gastown whilst the drunks staggered skid row and the mentally ill people still had glimmers of hope in Riverside hospital.
We'd chat with the rubbies and sway as we spoke in order to catch them off balance which made them fall over.
A damned cruel trick, but menacingly funny when you're 10-14 years old.
Life was spent outdoors and we were healthy, allergy free, fit and NOT fat!
Contrast today, 40+ years on. I rarely see kids outdoors anymore and they're becoming weaker and sickly.
The argument is that its not safe. We packed around in groups of 4 or 8. We were safe.
I think we're living in an age of selfishness and quick gratification. I'm not too sure that 8 14 year olds could hang together outdoors for 10 hours on a Saturday. I'm willing to bet that they'd think that they're bored.
I heard a young teen boy lamenting earlier today:  "Bra, I gotta get some money. I need money to buy things!" This kid had better clothes than me, ear buds hooked up to a device and he was holding his phone. His mate was at least as kitted up.
At his age, I needed bus fare, more time, a friend and maybe a buck for Ben's chips and a coke. We'd suppliment our adventures by picking pop bottles out of ditches and bushes and trade them for 2 and 5 cents depending on size.
Mum would give us grief because we communicated via shouting and whistling through windows, used the phone too much (never know when a call from England was trying to get through...) and always had kids calling on me and my brother even if we were already off on another adventure.
I'm older now. I can't turn back the clock nor would I. I have beautiful memories.
But I do wish I knew the secret language of today's youth that Harry spoke to me.


Friday, December 12, 2014

tic tic ticked off

So, Cody Haevischer and Matthew Johnston of the infamous Red Scorpion gang in Vancouver have FINALLY been sentenced to a mandatory life sentence with no chance of parole for 25 years for the cowardly Surrey 6 murders. 4 of the victims were known to police and had gang ties blah blah blah and the 2 other poor sods were innocent men in the wrong place at the wrong time! Cody and Matthew evidently thought that they'd play God but they're just a couple of stupid humans with guns and no balls!
The horrific crime these two chicken-shit cowards went through with occurred in 2007 AND THEY WERE JUST SENTENCED 7 years on!
Our legal system has failed these victims. (and scores of others) 
So, with all due respect to our failed system and the yellow spined judges sitting fat in our Canadian courts, I fear you fat headed men and women of the Bench have set a standard for all "disagreements" and infractions in our fair Country.
All the evidence is laid at the door of the Courts. Often times there is damning, solid testimony AND confessions. But oh how the Courts draaaaaaag things on.
And so we plebeians learn from you. 
It seems simple to me.
Bring evidence to the accused.
Prove the case.
Get the confession.
Declare the sentence.
Have (them) serve the sentence.
Carry on.
I find it inhumane to drag on cases, punishments, threats of punishments and withholding rehabilitative measures etc etc.
All we are doing, is creating a more bitter, angrier, guilty person who may inevitably take all of your long overdo niceties, chuck them over their shoulder and then go off and commit a greater offence.
Our Supreme Court is a joke, our system is in disarray and the shite methods trickle all the way down to our private families...and in some cases, they inevitably get moved up into that broken system!  
Accuse me. Charge me. Sentence me. QUICKLY! 


Gourmet chicken lunch for 2

There's been a lot of negative local News reported lately. Horrific crimes against humans and property, unchecked Corporate waste of taxpayer monies, police hassles, storms, Government bs...a rather dreary list.
So...a personal good news moment!  I have hope for placement in another job working with marginalized people in Vancouver's Downtown East Side. Canada's poorest postal code. I won't quit driving truck straight away and I'll never allow my professional licenses to lapse but working WITH people is what I really enjoy.
It's a front line job "working" with men (and women) in various stages of addiction, stagnated by poverty and mental health issues and a prejudiced system that continues to fail them.
I'm afraid I've never been able to look away from these types of social issues. I've never felt the urge to chase after a well paying career in some other area.. I'm convinced that big bags of cash wouldn't make me happy. (However I COULD help more people??) 
I bought a guy lunch today. Dave lives in a shitty little space that costs him $500 mouth in single room occupancy hotel in skid row.
"Its clean and the landlord keeps the crack heads out" he assures me. I brought Dave on the truck today because I thought I'd need a hand loading 155 turkeys from a supplier. He was happy to get out and see a part of the city he doesn't recall being in. I guess change is good when you're used to 120 square feet of private living space off of the always active Hastings street.
Dave had a chicken burger, fries and black coffee. We had precious little time so it was a "kiss me quick" at A&W.
I don't recall the last time I've noticed anyone enjoy food the way he did! A crappy fast-food meal (no offense Allen & Wright)
Dave is 51 and has been clinically depressed for 8 years. Too often, for many days on end, he can't face leaving that stuffy hot room of his even though he's on a cocktail of medications.
I understand his struggle in a minute way. Difference is I have a supportive wife, a job, a motorbike, coverage for meds and therapy and friends to name a few of my blessings.
Dave has...his room and smokes. Dave rolls his own smokes...from butts he finds on the pavement. I don't like the smell of them but Dave needs "his fix". Dave doesn't drink or do drugs.
The system fails Dave moment by moment I'm afraid. The social safety net isn't strong enough to support his weight until he's fit enough to keep employed somewhere.
This COULD become you you realize?
So there's a happy story mixed with bitter realism for a Friday night.
I'll see Dave again. I see him often.
In the mean time. Look after yourselves.

Sunday, December 7, 2014

sunrise, sunset.

I had the day off today and my wife had stuff going on so I jumped on my motorbike with her blessings. But I'm a man, so inevitably I screwed that up in the end. Never mind. This blog is about my advances in mental health, not my misery.
I clocked just over 160 kilometres of chilly freedom that I so desperately needed! No partner, no parameters, no schedule, no destination.
Freedom is a word that is definitely up for interpretation.
I was on the bank of a river today watching Chum salmon gasping at their last gulps of life after spawning. They lay more than swimming, pathetically at the shore trying with all their might to go up any stream that offered a current. Its what salmon know they're meant to do.
A local First Nations guy I started chatting with said that they're also called tomatoes due to their crimson colour.
These magnificent creatures beat such odds to get back to this river. But are they free?
One could argue that since they MUST spawn that they are indeed not free...but governed.
What governs your actions? Your thoughts? Your opinions?
Often times, we (ME) live our lives controling other humans for our own benefit.
Think on it honesty for a moment.  Do you really, FULLY give your kids, spouse, employees or friends total freedom? I'd wager no.
We live for self. Face it!
We look out for #1 in 90% of our waking activities.
Mum Teresa flipped it around. I'm no where near ready to commit to that. How many excuses do you want me to cite? Do you have some? Ever struggled in this?
So today...was all about me. My mental well being, a moment to recharge my human battery, to breathe deep the precious air that God designed that I so desperately need.
But I forgot to include someone dear to me.
Such a simple task...but when we're focused on self, nothing else matters. No other one matters...for a moment.
Freedom is an interesting gift. You don't simply have it, you must be given it or it doesn't exist. So in that vein of thought, the freedom I've been given is simply an illusion.
I think, but I may be wrong, that true freedom could perhaps be defined as living quietly on your own in a cabin on a mountain far from civilization utterly dependent upon your own means...
Or, to flip it, it could also mean that your freedom begins at the time of your death.
I wager that none of us embrace freedom.

Saturday, December 6, 2014

CAUTION objects in mirror are closer than they appear

I'm on Citalopram. It's an antidepressant drug that helps my brain recognize "feel goods" and to NOT dwell on the negative downers that I used to be able to dismiss in time without the aid of artificial chemical enhancement.
Example? I look forward to my daily Northbound drive over the Lions Gate Bridge here in Vancouver because I can see and smell the ocean and breathe in the mountains.
One day, it was dreary and cloudy drizzle obscured the mountains from view...and I cried. My day was shot, I was overwhelmed by an irrational dread that orchestrated the rest of my day. I allowed an event that was and IS 100% out of my control to plan my day for me. To negate all the good things regardless of importance, and smother them in thick gray doom.
Squirrels give me joy! Crows...I love crows! Not that day...I didn't drink them in even if I saw any. Safe to say that I didn't notice them. What else did I miss?
WHO have I missed?
I'm in the habit (or preference) of taking coffee as a meal replacement these days. I'm certain my health is shit! I look forward to seeing my friends...the Alley Rats as I lovingly call them, and offering them foods and coffee. I can do without 3 meals today to spare a crust for them...
I see them by 10 am but they're well into the beer by then, no desire for coffee. But they happily, graciously accept my alms of food.
I gave Ray a pecan pie. "I haven't a pecan pie in I don't know how long Lance. It was my favourite as a kid."
Gerald was thrilled to get yogurt.
I won't buy them beer. I'll have a drink with them if I'm not working, but I won't buy it for them. I don't see the point of increasing the incline of a stairway that a human already has trouble negotiating.
I drive truck. Over an average week, I'll back my truck through approximately 70 different situations most of which have rather dodgy geometry and limited visibility. Not to mention the utterly stupid drivers and pedestrians that proceed directly behind me the second my back up alarm begins chirping as I hit my horn 3 or 5 times!
I rely on my mirrors. Next to my brakes, my mirrors are my saviour.
My right mirror has the same inscribed saying that your car does...the title of this post.
The other day, I was sitting on the right portion of the seat in my truck cleaning my interior and the right mirror. I was thinking of Harry. I often find myself thinking of him. #MissingHarry is a hashtag I use often.
My right arm was resting on the edge of the open window as I sat there thinking of him. I don't remember him as a young man, he was 38 when I came to earth.
The reflection of my right arm looked foreign to me. Otherworldly, not my own really. It looked like Harry's arm in all truth. My muscles are relaxing with age, that vibrant colour of youth has long been fading and freckles...are those freckles?
I'm 51 and living, for the time being, with depression. The thought of getting old and redundant is NOT something I'm keen on but I'm fortunate enough to not have the experience of the alternative. Evidently I'm not going to die young.
So I looked in that damned mirror. I looked deeply INTO that mirror. All of my flaws that it reflected back to me, all of my secrets shouted loudly, my truth, my lies...all of my stories and experiences slapped me into sobriety.
I looked at my arm, my face...LANCE!
I'm not giving up on me.
I'm not in love with me right now, but I'm damned fond of me.
Hey, I'm a work in progress right?