Terminal

Well, I am back and it didn't take the better part of a year this time.  With less than three months to go, I am officially putting my next trip to Vancouver on the clock.  This year I am going over Christmas, in part because there is no use in celebrating Christmas in the states anymore.  With my mom passing, the one person who I might have wanted to do sonething with at Christmas is gone.  While i am sure I couuld meet up with some family members, who would have me at their familie's festivities, I would feel more like a third wheel than anything else. Since I am not willing to feel like an intruder, I figured I would go do something for the holidays.  Besides, it will be my third season in Canada, having been in Vancouver for spring on my first trip and summer on my second.  I am jokingly referring to it as Canistmas (Canadian Christmas), but knowing how beautiful that city is, I am curious how decked out it is for the holidays.  After that, I am content to die.

I know, how horribly to end the last paragraph, right?  In the grand scheme of things though, I've reached a point where some of my contemporaries have already died, friends and acquaintances alike.    For me, I work two shit jobs that i pretty much despise, it sucks getting up in the morning, knowing at least part of your day is going to be miserable.  And given I am closer to my expiration date than my birth date, mentally I am like the Pittsburgh Pirates most Septembers, just playing out the string.  I have become quite content with my eventual passing, i just ask that when I do die, it is not made into some theatrical event, just dimp my body off a bridge into the river and everyone should get on with their business.  This is not a cry for help, it just is what it is.  I will not choose my brother's path and commit suicide, but I am getting to be too old to reinvent myself.  The day to day nonsense of doing what I need to do to get to the next day is just tiresome and hardly rewarding in and of itself.  Even the little nuggets i leave myself as things to look forward to, they just don't seem to be enough anymore.

I find most of my interactions with people these days to just be draining, as if I would be better off not having them to begin with.  Who would have thunk I would do a blog entry this damn depressing, perhaps it is because I am typing from one of those jobs I loathe so much.  But my overnights at work consist of chasing panhandlers off of our lot and selling blunts to potheads.  Many of my liberal friends would question me on both, panhandlers are just down on their luck, which I admit may very well be true, but we are a gas station, not a fucking social program and I am not cool with people harassing my potential customers.  Likewise I am sure there are plenty of people who will defend marijuana use, hey it's not addictive and yada, yada, yada.  That doesn't pass the eyeball test I see every night.  I don't ned a clinical study to formulate my opinion.  When I shut down the store for about 15 minutes every night to run the daily reports and I have people beating on the door so they can buy their next blunt, I don't have the problem, they do.

Not that my other job is any better, where you basically have to fail the piss test to be employed.  Not sure why they took me on, as I don't fit that description at all.  The biggest problem I have there is when someone cries that they need more hours, usually it is mine that get cut.  Seniority means nothing, even if I am not the most senior person there, after 10 months I have at least moved to the middle of the pack on that ladder, if it meant anything.  Apparently it does not.  And the ones that are there, it feels almost high school like clique-ish.  I am too old to be trying to fit in with a bunch of youngsters whose life goal is getting from one high to the next.

Well, that was even more depressing, but i should get back to work now, selling blunts to the public.  Oh joy!