Adaptation, colouring, blue

the deck

Blue all over my fingers from colouring on Roma’s deck.  Well, on paper but sitting on her deck.

She is away but said I could sit on her deck whenever the mood struck.

It struck.  I walked across the street in bare feet,  the cement hot as heck.  Hot hot days around here.  So hot that thinking gets kind of blurred.  So hot I go down to the swimming pool twice – once to swim eight lengths of the mammoth-ness of it, and once just to bob.  Hot hot.  Children crying, tantrums, and one young man who didn’t seem to understand the need for a bit of space between towels.

Blue everywhere.  On my pants -oh yikes and chocolate too.  Must change before writing group tonight.  A small group no doubt – most have gone off to do their summer somewhere other than here.

How do I write what I want to write without sounding ever repetitive.

I had to turn down three afternoons of work this week because one of the afternoons I could not make it.  Seeing S.T.  I tried calling her, asking if we could re-arrange but she never got back to me.

Once a week, she has said, once a week or you get charged $160.

Fair enough I guess.

But crazy in a way to be turning down the tiny kernels of work.  The three weeks in August at UBC we have agreed I can do whatever hours they give me.  Phew.

Phew S.T.

It is so hot out have I said.  Have I written that.

After almost four years I would think my brain would be more able to accept what is what is what is.

And yet no.

But now I colour and collage and paint when it isn’t too hot to take it all out.

And write once in awhile.

And write.

I don’t know how to write this in a new way; in a way that won’t make people sigh and think she has written that so many times all ready how much more can there be to say on the same topic.

Sometimes the clunky hamster wheel I am on makes me think I am crazy.

But less so, I think that less often now.

This is life, seems to be the point.

Clunk, clunk, clunk.

It’s like the restlessness you get (or maybe you don’t, maybe this doesn’t happen to you) you get when you have a fever.  Like everything is all ganged up inside and you can’t sit still.  Your body so uncomfortable from burning up inside.  Ugh.  When I have a fever I seem to move my legs around a lot and moan and wait for the Tylenol to kick in or not.

Poets could express this more clearly probably.

Oh for sure. they could.

Tomorrow I have an appointment with a fellow named Justin at TD “Wealth Management.”  Can’t we do this over the phone, I asked, it is so hot out.  He seemed to find this out.  No, he said, it is more of a meet and greet.  Justin, I don’t have wealth, I tell him.  My financial windfall that you’ll note I removed from your bank immediately was a one off.

No, no, that’s not why we want to see you, he says.  I can be your financial planner, he says.  I’ve seen some bus ads where TD is giving away an I Pad to new customers.  I am not a new customer but I want the I Pad.  It is with that hope and the chance to talk to someone that I shall cycle down to the morning meet and greet tomorrow.

On Friday morning I am subbing for three hours with LINC and immigrants in North Vancouver.  That is an hour commute but I am oddly not dreading that.  The lesson will be planned for me, the students lovely as they are.  I randomly get calls from there to sub – rarely and randomly.  Viva Friday.

In six weeks, I shall be doing the three weeks at UBC.  This is repetitive;  I have mentioned this before.

Sorry, it’s the clunk clunk.


I haven’t spoken to anyone in a couple of days so I hope my re-entry tonight goes smoothly or at least not roughly.

I queried the Courier about doing an article on the strike but alas, no freelance  budget and apparently I am too close to the story to be objective.

Uh yes, I wrote back.


Everything is so tight around here- no budget for a thing.

I shall be an activity worker at a nursing home!  S. College offers this program.  $14,000!!!!!!!!!!!! for like 8 months.  If you go online, you read nothing but criticisms of this college.  That’s a lot of money, I tell the recruiter who phones me seconds after I request information.  “More students are happy than not,” she says.  “Maybe but the reviews are horrible,” I say.

“Well,” she says.

Apparently there aren’t many jobs in that field anyway, which is odd considering the baby boomers reaching that age.  It is not the most well paying but certainly better paying than the nothing I get now.  $14,000!!!! and no work again at a questionable college.  Hmmm . . . .




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