distraction vs destruction

    I've been picking up a few shifts at the grouphome lately along with my usual Monday to Friday full-time work. In fact, I'm working 57 "shifts" out of a possible 61 days over October/November. I justify the work load by saying that we need the extra money or that the extra can go into my "bike fund". Truth is, both jobs are low paying so this extra I dream of is not really worth my exhaustion.
I really like both jobs so there's that, and I do have a list of things that are needed vs wanted that cost money, but honestly part of the truth is that I get bored too easily.
I really need to find a hobby that I can sink my teeth into because I'm alone far too often and I don't enjoy being alone.
I've got the usual list of excuses: Stuff costs money. Its dark by the time I'm home, I'm too tired to actually go and DO something...
More truth is that I fear that I'm simply sinking into an apathetic rut which I can't help think is perhaps why a dependence upon drugs or alcohol is formed by so many people or why that deep overwhelming feeling of depression clouds over and smothers clear thinking.
So yeah, I work.
Its become very clear to me that I can't rely on other people to "make me happy" or meet my needs so I've come to the conclusion that I must make some changes in my own life in order to not go completely mental!
I have several friends that live in single room occupancy hotels in the Vancouver skid row area and being alone, bored and unmotivated is their biggest complaint.
Their deep personal emptiness has a greater negative effect on them than even their utter poverty. I've heard it over and over again how each one has slipped so deep into sadness that they simply "couldn't leave their room".
I get that. I can really understand what they mean. That all consuming despair that everyone else says "snap out of it" is bigger and heavier than most other things we go through.
So...I must find a hobby that can be done preferably outside of my home which doesn't cost a ton of money.
Hopefully a few things that are on my radar will soon be within reach after another "extra money" payday at the end of the month.
I'm working 13 days of the next 16 so I'll be plenty distracted for now.
We'll see what December brings.
Peace

As we moan about over-full bellies

I know a guy, well...more than know him but I'm not about to give away anyone's details without them knowing first hand.
In any event, this guy that I know has a 911 Porsche that I promise you he's earned. He's a gentle man, a clever man, a loving man. He's what you'd call Self Made. I admire him! He said that he LOVES driving it.
Anyway, I saw the car and I was truly happy for him but it got me to thinking; What do each one of us have that we fall back on as luxury, therapy, getaway, fun or relaxation?
It's an interesting topic.
I have a motorcycle that I ride all year as most of you know and its my main form of transportation (more than my legs which is a crime to be honest) but, after the necessary mental gymnastics,  I'm able to separate COMMUTE from RIDE.
What I mean in that is that when I ride at the Week End or after work, its all beautiful therapy. I ride slowly with no aggression, sucking in the oxygen and counting all of the colours I notice along the way. Its my downtime, reboot...whatever you wish to call it. To be honest...once in a rare while, I sneer, curl my lip and give 'er shit! My bike can really fly when I have no fear...hell, I even growl!
What do you have?
Where do you go?
What do you do?
This is encouragement time!
You got a horse? Convertible? Fishing spot? Instrument? Writing?
Do you people watch?
I know a heavily tattooed local author that runs and writes and runs and writes...he STILL manages to fit in time for his boy and his "woman".  I could learn from Chris and plan to...
My wife plays this dumb ass (imho) game on her phone. Balloons crushing candy or something? Keeps her sane whilst juggling me (thats a chore), her full time music stuff and her full time work acting stuff whilst being available to several Doula's for child minder and being in local plays to boot.  (the woman seems to be on call more than a dial-a-bottle driver)
She seems to hold her sanity by picking on instruments and humming. (to be rather candid, I think she's borderline crackers...but what do I know?)
Me? I ride my motorbike all year, visit the river several times a week and SUCK IN MORE OF MY SHARE OF OXYGEN, walk DTES alleys and chat with desperate humans who's only thought that matters is how to get the next "rock" of Crack. (join me one day. You'll be surprised at the humanity...I promise) Buy 'em a coffee, Native smokes or a slab of shitty, sweaty pizza.
What do you do?
What ARE you doing to maintain mental health?
It could be ANYTHING!
You know your strengths, weaknesses, available resources and skills. Only you know what causes you anxiety and where your comfort level is.
Dare you step towards what stretches you?
My latest mental challenge is trying to step out of my comfort zone. I'm so chill holding a girl's purse whilst she administered heroin into a vein in her neck (true moment) or the time I pondered buying my wife a cool belt buckle at a street market on the infamous Hastings Street Sidewalk Sale  while the owner of said buckle emptied a poppy filed syringe into a damn near dead vein in his thigh.
"dude, what do you need for the buckle?"
"fuck man. Hold up I just got a hit"
For me...thats easy.  I've helped sex trade workers get dressed after being chucked out of cars after a "bad date".
So where's  the point where I'm personally stretched? Need I go into the business district and park Audis?
Do I have to shine Italian stitched leather shoes?
Must I take my holier than thou attitude and shove it deep into the sewer?
So yeah....a 911 Porches that is probably very far from entry level but in all honesty easily within my friend's means doesn't seem all that extravagant in the big picture. In fact, I'm envious because I have a 17 year old shite van and my 12 year old loving-it-to-death motorbike which I can barely afford to keep on the road and his stuff is so fresh.
But the bigger picture?
I spend time on the river with Brock. Brock is 27. Mum of his daughter left him and now he lives in a tent along the Fraser River (won't tell you where exactly the full story isn't mine to share) and he looks likes shit! Last time we bumped into each other was just after he got his welfare cheque. He gave most to his daughter and then bought tobacco and shite beer.
He offered me one of his cans of Wildcat as we sat on the river bullshitting... even though its damn near the worst beer on the BC market in my opinion, that one tasted to me like one of those uppity $1000 bottles of champagne that South Vancouverites line up for. Is it the flavour?
The name?
The region?
What your friends see that you bought?
Sticker price?
Availability?
Or do you honestly prefer it?
In fact, I was warned by an in house expert to ignore the recent 2012 Bordeaux release unless I was a Collector. Buddy in the know said that he could give me several "better options" than 1 $180 bottle of this stuff.
I giggled and paid my $11 for ale.
So i ramble...I'm known for it.
What do you do to reboot?
Who do you help?
Are you happy?
How may I help you?
Peace



 

Kid Gloves with holes torn through cruising Facebook

Here we are in a very important year in Canada. We gets to vote! It's our right, its our privlege.
So...of course I'm all over this on the Facebook! As it turns out, the current Leader of our Country is very much for the rich (didn't see that coming) not to mention He seems to be rather racist with his dumb ass comments on OLD STOCK IMMIGRANTS and other crap.
To be fair...Harper is from Alberta. Alberta should be the 51st USA State in my opinion. Rampant Gun lust, *quiet opinions like "I'm not racist but...." and several other archaic nuances.
So yeah....I get hassled on Facebook by Alberta folks. Truth hurts I guess?
How many Canadian Prairie Good Ol' Boys side with The Trump I wonder....scary thought!
I even had one guy post "TIME TO PLAY COWBOYS AND MUSLIMS" with vintage imagery of White dudes shooting guns.
And that guy professes a Christian faith...hmmmmm?
Sounds a bit like my ugly heritage. The English gave you a chance to honour (their) God or they'd stick a sword through your skull.
Nothing has changed I fear.
It would appear to me that as far as Alberta goes, I'm not allowed to have my political opinion.
This held very true over the 11 years that I lived there.
I saw a bumper sticker often in Alberta:  PISS OFF A LIBERAL BUY A GUN
I made my own sticker that read:
PISS OFF A CONSERVATIVE THINK FOR YOURSELF
My sticker was torn off of my van with 48 hours. Democracy?
So here I am, back on the Left Coast with like minded people. My only hope is that we can agree and Vote for 1 party to be sure to send Harper packing! (he'll get a nice pension...no need to worry about him)
But as far as my Alberta ties go? Apparently I'm an idiot. Many think Harper walks on water and carries incense to the very gates of religious ceremonies.
(MY BAD...WHITE FOLK DON'T USE INCENSE IN RELIGION)
So yeah...you'll see #heaveSteve painted on my motorbike tank and #endofanerror on the other side.
Its time for him to go, he's done too much damage to the have-nots.
As far as my Albertan opponents go?
Relax...the NDP will look after you.

Worn out faces

I work with a woman. Well, to be fair, she isn't on the truck with me every day but she manages to keep the daily bullshit in one pen so to speak. She's what? 26 I think...
We chat. Of course you chat with coworkers...some you avoid. She talks a fair bit of politics, social sciences, the state of the union...I can relate.
Today she pipes up "Lance, do you think my face is getting wrinkles?"
I found it kind of funny.
I found it kind of sad.
20-something and she's wondering about this?
She's really pretty! She's fit, athletic, TomBoy, smart as a textbook, outgoing, on top of current issues, has her own fashion sense...and maybe...if the light is right...a wrinkle. Maybe.
This surprised me. It was out of left field for her. Shes so damned together in my limited perspective. What do I know...
So I saw Ray today. Ray is in his 60's but if you saw him, you'd probably guess a rough 70.
Ray used to sleep outdoors, but he "his bones got too old" so he applied, and got a room at the St. Helens in Vancouver. Could be worse by miles. He has his own kitchen area and "shithouse".
Ray pulls in disability each month. I won't bother filling your time with his story about how he got where he is.. suffice it to say, kids that never call, a wife that loathes him and a Government that dangles a carrot of hope in the form of "more help" under his nose.
So Ray, I like Ray. Ray talks about things how it is from his viewpoint. I bet I could spit in his face or slap him in the head and he'd ask "why'd you do that?"
Always a smile creasing his filthy face. Always half in the bag by 9:30 am when I see him. Always a story.
The place I work for can't "use" tinned goods that are dented. Health BS... (staff can bring them home to eat. Often we do....) In the back of my 5-ton truck, I've got 6 crates of canned goods. Name it, I've got it! Soups, sauces, fruits, veg, beans, ravioli...dented but fine.
I keep 'em on board for Red. I've introduced you to Red before. You need Red on your side in the DTES. If he doesn't get on with you, I pity you.
(Red...again, a dude on disability...weighs 346 with gimped knees. No dope, No booze, No gambling)
Red got me a cigar for my birthday last month. Think on that. A dude who lives in an infested SRO hotel buys ME a cigar. Shit...the brother remembered my birthday! He recalls my favourite food for crying out loud!
My friends. The invisible ones. The scumbags.
So back to Ray.
I see Ray today at 9:15 and he's shittered but in his typical great mood. The guy's eyes twinkle even though they're opaque and bloodshot.
I manage to manoeuvre the truck around Robson at Cardero without killing anyone but infuriating taxi and bus drivers. Screw them, I'm on a mission.
Big deal? U-turn on Robson. Suck it up! I signalled...
So I pull my headlight up to Ray's chin as he's sitting on a bollard with his cart full of empties. Ray is a Binner. A polite one. A successful one!
He beams...he recognized me. He trusts me more than I do. What if I misjudged?
"Ray you old buzzard, where have you been? I haven't set eyes on you for weeks"
"I got sick bad. I got heat stroke then I got sick from that rain. I don't have good heat at home. My clothes were wet. I was gonna go to St Pauls for the cough...but its 3 hours waiting. How are you?"
"Ray, how the hell can I complain when I talk with you? You know I feel bad if I do"
"We all have different problems Lance"
"Can I buy you a coffee Brother?"
"No thanks, I have my beer going."

I tell Ray about the tinned goods, he's thrilled! I allow him the pick of the litter and he grabs about 30 tins of various stuff. He keeps telling me how much money I've saved him...
Money. Commerce. Invisible trade for most of us.
Ray asked how my daughter was. He remembers meeting her. He says "you're still married right?" I tell him "barely" but regret the words the moment they slithered off of my tongue.
What the hell do I know of his life?..and I try to provoke pity for mine. Humour or not...how dare I?
I pull away through the alley and attempt a left turn onto Robson. A frail man that must be 110 is pushing a shopping cart across the Robson and the pedestrian light is count in down quicker than he wishes. I look, I cock my head and watch as the numbers count down from 10 as if to suggest this poor bastard's lifespan...I catch myself...tight throat.
I'm brought back to reality at the sound of a car's horn. An impatient dude in a Tesla is pissed that the Old Dude is holding him up by a few seconds.

I want a year of Jubilee. I want an even slate. I want the Fawn to graze with the Lion. I want Love.
Peace

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!