Sometimes the mirror you're looking into doesn't need glass

I'm deciding on chilling on my alcohol intake. To be fair...it's only beer. But it's becoming too valuable to me at a cost. CAVEAT...this is my choice...not YOURS!
So let's review....
Beer helps my chronic back pain. Legit but an EXCUSE
Beer helps me fall asleep when my financial burdens surface and I hold a low paying job AGAIN. (I guess I chose it.) EXCUSE
Beer helps me assume all is well when I feel lonely. EXCUSE
Beer helps me cope when I feel abandoned. EXCUSE
Beer is celebratory. EXCUSE/TRUE
Beer is comfort when life is shite. TRUE/EXCUSE
Beer is good with Wings  TRUE
I'm British...beer is good  TRUE
2 beer (Pints) helps me be sociable, 3 up to 8 makes me an irritable, instagating Asshole TRUE
Unfortunately, due to my endless shite Life Planning, I can't really afford good beer TRUE
I drive for a living, beer is bad. TRUE
I LOVE the flavour of various styles of beer. TRUE
Chances are, if I've had enough beer, I do stuff I wouldn't typically do. (the jury is still out on this one but I added it for the purpose of "level field" I mean, who's the judge? I could get away with so much with "YOU" that I couldn't possibly get away with "YOU" for instance. Follow me?)
In any event, right now I'm going to walk up to my Local and buy 1 can of ale as a celebratory FUCK YOU!
If you happen to see me in the next little while or invite me along to a thing and I decline beer, mention this and don't offer me beer and  PLEASE CONTINUE TO HELP ME! I love beer....but I love you more!
Peace

That burning sensation of your personal business

I was asked to marry a couple about 3 months ago. I was flattered and teary eyed. Of course I said YES!
I met her HIM just before they asked me but I've known her for about 15 years. She's 25 now I think and the closest its been to marrying my daughter. I wept controlled tears of joy during the outdoor ceremony, I lost it in private.
Time waits for no one! Was I ever 25? Who was I 27 years ago? Did I have dreams? Was I merely surviving a mental barrage of information based on stupid life choices and no game/life plan?
Is my suffering today a direct result of being a dumb shit with no council so long ago?
My (no) money is on YES!
So the wedding...I was asked to wear to my Utilikilt (look 'em up and get your guy one) and of course I agreed happily!
It was 30+ degrees C in Okotoks that day and I was nervous. I wear the kilt in the tradition of Ancient  wearers of old...on it's own!
But man did I sweat that day! Nerves you know?
So yeah, the wedding was a brilliant success and all is well! People danced into the night blah blah blah.
The next day, I went on an 11 km hike along side a river that disappeared now and then as we climbed small mountainous trails.
More sweat...no kilt freedom for me!
I could feel my discomfort growing as the temperature between my thighs began to rise. It wasn't pretty I can assure you! How on Earth did the Scots ride horses let alone fight?
 Anyway, I was with 2 people half my age, even so I kept up with their enthusiasm along the intermediate trails...but secretly I was suffering. I'm sure any bear that chanced by would turn his nose up to this well-done morsel!
It became apparent to me that the Gods of Moderate Endowment were playing a trick on my pride with every step, they blessed me with a nasty rash!
Oh to squat in that river! To feel it's cooling embrace...but no. Soldier on! Walk in the fire!Stagger through the sting!
I eventually made it through that trip and the short work week of driving truck (in agony) before my motorcycle trip with my wife for our 25th.
Our bike trip was brilliant! Sunshine Coast, Gibsons, Davis Bay, Powell River, Port Alberni, Tofino, Ucluelet, Maple Bay etc. We saw many friends and had loads of fun, but my rash increased in fury!
Oh how I wish I was making this up!
Afterwards, I returned to work on the hot truck with slightly teary eyes replacing the usual spring in my step, that bloody rash was migrating regardless of creams, air, ointments and petitions to the gods that cast it upon me in the first place. I had given in. Without knowing the game, I surrendered to them.
Alas...they've not yet granted me audience nor given any relief 4 weeks on.
So today, I'm down in Vancouver's "skid row" doing one of my usual drops and I chat with one of my usual acquaintances. He lives in one of those 12X12 rooms that cost over $500 month. They call them SRO's... dumps in Single Room Occupancy hotels that the City of Vancouver and Her Mayour Gregor Robinson continue to allow to exist. (must be a profit thing or cash promises from future Developers)
So I'm grumbling the way I usually do and my guy grabs at his crotch unapologetically and violently scratches it a few times as if he's on fire...
 I tell him "Dude, I know that dance step..."
He says "Yes...fucking bed bugs. I hate them!"
Suddenly my non-parasitic rash earned outdoors in the country whilst breathing fresh air taking exercise isn't all that bad!
Peace.

take stock.

THIS POST IS GRAPHIC!!

I was with my friend Red today. I'm not allowed to tell you his real name because the police and some other guys want to talk to him. I know a bit of the story...I know too much.
I can use his nickname because you won't meet him unless you walk around those nasty areas in Vancouver's DTES and bump into him.
My wife has met him and likes him. He likes her. My 21 year old daughter met him today...I think she likes him but to be fair, she doesn't mind "those people".
Red punishes the scales at 356 pounds, has a bald head since he was 19 so he says (he's 47) several Confederate Flag tattoos and uses words to describe people of colour that I won't repeat here or anywhere...you get the idea.
Red has a HUGE heart! He looks out for the Sex Trade Workers that (we) know and lives in the battle zone. I get to go home every night.
One day, my daughter was on the truck with me helping out and hanging out doing my usual route. Red caught wind of some of what some of the local guys said about her (unheard by me) What they'd like to do with her...
Red went off the rails!
"THATS HIS FUCKING DAUGHTER! YOU TOUCH HER, YOU LOOK AT HER, YOU GO NEAR HER AND I'LL BREAK SOME BONES"
He's a good guy to avoid if he's in a bad mood. (today, when Red met my daughter, he said "If ever you have any problem when you're down there, say my name...you'll be ok") I think I believe him.
Red lets the local women sleep at his place when they're scared, sick or hurting. He's described the arrangement but you don't need to know that.
I've met several of these women who are deeply trapped in addiction leading to horrific poverty and daily doses of hell, they all have stories. They all had dreams. They're not just "whores"!
Facebook trolls give more passion towards beat dogs and starved kittens then they do towards these fellow humans.But who am I to judge? (oh right...)
I met a young woman today who is addicted to heroin. She says she hits 3 or 4 times a day but doesn't know how much money it is. She gave a guy a blow job for $1.35 last week. I'd love to meet him after sunset.
I'll do you one better...her friend did the same thing for a car ashtray full of cigarette butts.
I don't make this stuff up. You want more?
Catch these women when they're not "hurting"
So normal sounding, so many dreams....
Are you ashamed of anything you've done? Don't judge these women for God's sake!
I gave LB a chocolate bar the other day, she couldn't beleive "no strings".  This woman is stunning! Great personality, hoarse voice, full figure, big eyes, strong legs, big smile...HIV positive, persistent cough, delusional, bruises everywhere, teeth missing, staggers as she walks, drifts in and out of consciousness, and needs dope.
I quite like her. Honestly, she must have been a knockout before dope...she still has glimmers of "oh damn" but they're fading fast.
Brandy (regular local woman) ate a 5 lb bag of gummie bears in about 15 minutes today. That was quite a feat. Sugar you see. I kinda thought they'd last her. Lesson learned. (is that even a bad thing?)
Another woman stole a roll of paper towels from Red's room (SRO) the other day...she didn't have any tampons. He forgave her.
Every week end Red sprays "the raid" around his room and door because no one else on his floor does. Red is bed bug and cockroach free.
At $575 month, the room is clostrophobic. But hell, he has a window!
Times are tough! My house lives paycheque to paycheque. If we're careful, we can waste money on beer and the odd meal out.
 In saying that, we have a rented home, insurance, a van, a motorbike both insured, health benefits, internet, iPhones, clothes, foods, hobbies, family, friends...the list goes on.
No real reason to bitch!

Slap in the face like a 2x4

I'm a bitchy cuss, I admit it. I have to LOOK for the good during each breath or I see the bad. What the hell, I'm British...I come by it honestly. Harry was a brilliant professor and I was a remarkable pupil!
So, in the vein of negative shite, have you ever read something someone wrote about you that they thought you'd never see or would fold like a cheap Walmart tent if they knew that you DID read it? Was it an ad? A reference? A comment on social network that slithered into your sight unbeknownst to the author...or worse? Something penned by a loved one or dear friend??
How do you deal with it? How DID you cope?
I don't give a rip about what strangers think or say about me. In fact...I could care less what acquaintances say or think.....
The thing that stings is what CLOSE friends or Family say. The stuff that they don't have the balls to say to your face...but write it down, gossip about it within family circles or they try to shroud it on social network sites (use your friggin' skulls, people)
During a recent trip to Alberta to perform a wedding ceremony between a couple I've known from a youth group I led years ago, I recalled the horrific gossip that oozed around the County about me in several towns as I drove past my former neighbourhood.
Three Hills, Acme and Linden.
All the shite said ABOUT me (never in direct earshot) apparently occured while I served as Associate Pastor at a very busy Alliance church for several years.
CHICKENSHIT GOSSIPERS!
(Thankless gig. I DO NOT recommend any kind of "job" within a Christian organization!)
The BS one particular 40+ woman conjured up about me without witness or corrorborating testimony could have landed me in jail! I asked the bitch for proof in front of witnesses...she couldn't deliver, but the local, gutless, faceless Kangaroo Court she rallied together had already deliberated without any incriminating fact. I guess as Pastor, I wasn't doing what she wanted and she rallied her mindless friends. Such are closed-minded Christians focused entirely on themselves.
So, my bit? I pray I never set eyes on her again! I wish her no ill will, but I hope she fades away to BLACK.
I pray for her kids...God help them remove her teaching from their hearts....
I was driving the 5-ton around Vancouver today. I'm a professional driver but I still manage to daydream at the odd red light. Today, my thoughts centered around how Family see me vs how Friends see me vs how Acquaintances see me.
Acquaintances: Binners, Strangers asking for money, Humans in wheelchairs, Addicted Sex-trade Workers, Welfare Bums, Mentally ill and Criminals that I chat with daily vs Friends that have known me for years vs Family that have known me forever...
You wanna know the truth? I think Acquaintances peg me most accurately. I don't hide a fucking thing from them.
So...the title of this post: Slap in the face like a 2X4?
I was chatting with a guy asking for coins that I often SEE outside a Government liquor store (he doesn't want me to use his name)
He saw and heard my motorbike.
He used to race dirt bikes. Modified dirt bikes. He talked like he's either lived it and was highly skilled or rehearsed it to the point that he's 1970's current and trying to gain street creed. Buddy is in a motorized wheelchair! Legs don't do what his brain asks and arms and hands protest every order.
I think he raced in the day.
Buddy pegged my heart, he identified a few of my passions and thanked me for chatting with him again (as possible spare change walked by)  he challenged me (I'm not telling what he said) and shook my hand with his. If I shut my eyes, I'd describe the sensation as holding a bare tree branch in a storm. But you know what? I felt Love, Compassion and Sincerity.
So...all this to say that I really don't care what you write about me in secret, whisper in the shadows or veil in snide social network comments.
I'll breathe deep with the people you may not see...because you know what?
THEY SEE!!!!!!!

Peace

Looking down while walking is rude.

There's this woman who writes poetry in Vancouver, she walks the streets and will "sell you one for a dollar".  She'll read one, you pay, she tries to sell another...then she carries on. I was with my wife once, she gave us one for free. I didn't listen to her words I must admit. Instead, I just stared at her face and drank in her emotions. She looks a bit like Janis Joplin did crossed with that scary hippy biker chic on the film CC and Company. (Damn Anne Margaret had it going on! But really...Joe Namoth?)
Sorry....I'm back.
She isn't completely fit mentally but who is if we're completely honest right? I mean there was plenty of evidence suggesting she has her own issues and perhaps has medication too, but more than that, she has more guts than you or even I do. She's working through stuff, she's out there, she's sharing herself.
"More guts" may not be a fair comment. More ambition? Less inhibition? Less care about what other humans think?
She's the type of person you might wish to avoid should she suddenly appear on the pavement in front of you as you walk merrily along. You may not have even noticed her until she spoke to you directly...but she was there.
Think of your own hobby. Do you have the confidence to walk about the city peddling Its result to tourists, restaurant patrons and bar/club bound people? Not sure I do. I do however chat with people because I love people and their stories. I also dislike too many people.
When the people I do love do something that I interpret as "hurting me" I get confused. Why would people do that? Friends, family, mates at work...perhaps the transgression is a fabrication in my mind. Perhaps it wasn't deliberate. Perhaps the timing was off. Perhaps I'm too delicate or self-absorbed. YOU MUST ALWAYS MEET MY NEEDS kind of BS.
Truth is, we don't even know what our needs are do we? They're as ever changing as colours in a year of sunsets. Sure, our basic needs are obvious to the degree that we don't verbalize them let alone think of them, but what of those quiet little silly ones?
The hugs you need. The missing compliment on a fresh hair style or outfit. The gasp he didn't give as you sauntered past in lingerie. How she didn't mention she noticed how the colours were plated on food you prepared...
Maybe we need the ovaries of Poetry Woman. Perhaps we need to start asking outright and forget about clues or hoping that we'll get stroked the moment we need it. God knows I could learn from my ramblings.
When people I don't know or "love" hurt me, I'm reminded that I have no good connection with them, just a fleeting negative one. A rude woman in a queue, an ignorant guy driving like a fool, an elitist cyclist etcetera.
I'm reminded that there are over 7 billion humans on Earth and I only know a few.
I love surprising strangers and asking them to tell me a story. People usually share pleasant experiences that is, until we become friends...then the negative events are passed around. To me, this is a sure sign of needing to be heard. Needing to be understood. Needing to be needed...to be loved.
I'm not here to even slightly suggest that you rush right on out and make more friends though. Think of it in truth; friendship is one hell of an obligation that we all take too lightly. Being a friend is a massive responsibility with huge expectations intertwined within the accord. Being a Lover carries even more joy and burden!
We're too tired to be a friend. We're too self absorbed to be a good Lover. WE pick and choose mates, times and events. That's ok, really it is.
The church calls it "burn out" when Pastors get tired being friendly. I'm not sure what we call it though.
Perhaps we need to call a friend. Better still, knock on their door.
After all...looking down while walking along is not only rude, its lonely.
Peace.

Special K IS pretty special

It's just gone 4am today and I'm doing another graveyard shift at the grouphome. This is the 5th one this month on top of working 40+ hour weeks driving a 5 ton.
I can't tell you about the kids at this place because they're minors, suffice it to say that there are not many "good" stories here.
Harry used to work in corrections. He landed a job at Oakalla prison here in BC and after several years there moved on to work out of a halfway house in South Vancouver on Hudson St. in the Marpole area. I couldn't imagine the Blue Bloods in that area allowing a house like that up there now! In fact, the original site is about 7 minutes from my home. Funny how things go.
If you don't know, a halfway house is where convicted criminals live upon release from prison to begin the process of reintegration with society while still providing monitoring and support. The Offenders get meals, a room and a program in addition to whatever their parole conditions are. Some end up back in prison unfortunately.
Opening a new halfway house is often opposed by vocal people called NIMBYs  ( Not In My Back Yard ) To be honest, I wouldn't want to live within a community of  NIMBY's.
Anyway, the reason I tell you this is that I get lonely on this shift if the kids are away or asleep like tonight and  I'm Missing Harry.
Harry was my dad if you didn't know...
Harry did shiftwork for about the last 20 years of his work life. You gotta admire a guy for that don't you?
In my mind's eye as a child and a teen, I can see Harry waving goodbye as he drove off to work in the different cars he owned throughout the years.
A 59 Pontiac Stratochief, 66 Pontiac Parisienne, an "in the meantime" 74 AMC Hornet until his 75 AMC Pacer came in and finally his 81 Chevy Caprice Estate wagon, the last car he'd drive.
He had to wear a uniform in Prison and hated the green colour and the tie. He hated anything even close to formal or military. I come by that formal bit honestly so it would seem.
The 70's were innovative years, so much changing so quickly. As a kid, I'm sure I missed a lot of things but I recall lots!
Harry hated it if mum "kept his dinner warm" in the oven under tin foil. I can still hear him "June (my mum) for Christ's sake, leave it on the counter Love. It's horrible all dried out like this."
He adored her, don't get me wrong! He was a crusty Brit is all. We eventually got a 60 lb microwave in the very late 70's. Probably from Sears...they were loyal to that place.
Harry wouldn't take food to work with him. I suppose they had meals in the house and leftovers like here, but the man was very picky...probably didn't eat. He DID take a little plug-in kettle and a few tea bags though. No tea there? Seemed odd even then. I can still see the fold-over baggie. No ziplocks then.
Somewhere along the line, Harry found a little black and white portable TV to take along. He could get 3 channels. Imagine 3 channels back in the 70's early 80's. What was even on during the lonely hours?
Lonely. Harry had 1 friend. Dave. ( Dave worked at the house and drove one of those very cool 70's Volvo P1800 E coupes. It was copper coloured. Ugly choice.)
I don't know how Harry managed lonely. Maybe he never got lonely? I get lonely. I'm lonely now.
Harry told me a few work stories in later years over beers in strip bars. Like the time he flushed the toilet at the house and the tank seemed "quick" to fill. He lifted the lid and found 2 bottles of Vodka.
Did he fill in a report? Nope...he tipped the spirit down the sink, filled the bottles with water and put them back where he found them. He said he never heard a word about it.
He played tricks on his work mates often, I wish I could recall some to tell you.
Some mornings, when I was still very young, I'd hear Harry get up and put the kettle on and I'd get up too. School was hours away but often I'd pretend I couldn't sleep just so I could sit with him before he left. We didn't really talk about anything. What is there to say to a little kid as you're getting ready for work?
I recall feeling sad for him though. I don't remember why I felt that way, I just recall the emotion as if it happened only yesterday.
A cup of tea and a bowl of Special K cereal, every time I got up...and I did it many times, that's what he was having for breakfast on day shift mornings. He ate, I sat...it was quiet. Damn I wish I remembered if we talked!
You know, I've tried Special K and I don't get the appeal...but sometimes, in a grocery store when I see it there, I look around in case someone is watching and if not...I touch the box.

Why does cerebral drama occur at night?

We've all got our shit to deal with. Unfortunately, others also have our shit to deal with too. You don't get to pick and choose how other people will respond to your madness or selfishness, but you may have to live with it.
Blow out is often seen as bad karma, but really...maybe you earned it.
I had a dream the other night. I don't put too much stock into dreams because as Ebenezer Scrooge says, "you may be the effect of an under cooked potato or a bit of undigested beef"
Never the less, my dreams are telling.
I recently had a dream wherein my wife put down her instrument in the middle of a jam we often attend to walk over to me and point out the 6 men that she had recently slept with. (caveat, she hasn't...)
I woke up mad.
Another nocturnal event had me shouting at my boss for being an utter tit with no clue about the daily goings on. Albeit true, I'd never resort to a public thrashing such as that.
I'm a news junkie. I had a dream that the jet I was on crashed into the sea. Many were lost...horribly. Victims were dismembered, burnt and bloated. I survived via a short swim. The dream was so vivid that I woke with heavy guilt that I survived while many perished.
Another dream, I lost an arm. No idea how...but for a motorcyclist and photographer, this is NOT good news. I just sat in a white room and cried.
So why is it that we can fumble through our respective days oblivious to our deepest fears and anguish?
Why, on our pillow, does all the shit slide down the wall and onto our brain?
What's your poison? Debt, age, health, kids, unfaithful spouse, middle age, aging parents, rebellious kids...
Why do our thoughts overtake us the moment we're meant to recharge...reboot...rejuvenate?
How many books have been written by authors with all the answers? ( we all know that they lay awake at night too! Save your money!!)
We try so many tactics and angles to sleep.
SEX, tea, lavender, reading, yoga, stretching, meditation, prayer, reading, massage, alcohol, snacks...
I may have missed your favourite angle, but I bet you lay awake too.
My brain is a convincing lier. My brain whilst horizontal on my pillow has a way of nullifying the effects of my citalopram and thereby convincingly whispering everything to me in the language I trust, everything  I dread or fear about YOU or me! ESPECIALLY what I think of me and what I think that YOU think of me!
This is quite like chasing a feather in the wind.