The Bloody Doors Off

I still haven’t started my lithium.

Because I need to get a blood requisition form, or so I tell myself.

Have tried to get one through my GP. But I need to get my psych to connect with her.

I dunno.

Things are spinning pretty fast, even though I’ve been standing still.

Earlier today I couldn’t get any sound out of my phone.

Three calls; they could hear me, I couldn’t hear them.

Tried rebooting.

Same problem.

Turns out. My bluetooth wireless headphones were still connected.

How obvious a fix is that? And one I couldn’t see?

And apparently, the contract with EXT is done. Went to input a ‘no hours’ timesheet and there was nothing there.

A heads up would’ve been nice.

I need more work. Need. Want.

Bring it, universe.

Have I told you about the time I had pancreatitis?

Okay. The second time.

Because it wasn’t properly diagnosed the first time.

Because pancreatitis pain begins radiating through your lower back and not, one would assume, the digestive tract.

It fucked me up for 3 days the first time.

I have a memory of a Skype call (something to do with theatre, that’s how vague it is). No. It was a cold read of an extremely early draft of A Song For Rachel. Like, second draft?

This was. Hmmm. Between 2008 and 2011.

So yeah. I could barely move I was in so much pain. But the emergency room doctor diagnosed it, the night prior, as muscular spasms and prescribed a painkiller that didn’t help.

That was wintertime.

Yes.

Because it was spring when it hit me the second time. I’d been at Sunday dinner with my family (mom & Larry, Kevin, Wayne, Donna, their kids). Same back pain. Only got worse as Kevin drove me home. Stopped off at a pharmacy to get Motrin. I barely made it to the couch in my Greektown one-bedroom. I laid down and an hour later the pain ratcheted up to a nine.

I called 911, they sent an ambulance. I got wheeled into Michael Garron Hospital shortly after midnight. I spent hours screaming in pain before they’d give me relief. One CT scan later, and I was being admitted.

Thank god for morphine.

I was in there for five days. They never did figure out what was wrong. They said a lot of people who have pancreatitis suffer long-term. I was one of the fortunate ones.

Wait.

That might’ve been the third time.

I once ended up at St. Joseph’s because I couldn’t digest my food. They had to pump my stomach.

Nah. I don’t think that was pancreatitis.

That was in the 90s.

Fuck. I’m one lucky sunovabitch.

I am not.

I am, however, intoxicated.

The more you know.

Remember Saturday morning cartoons?

Growing up, it was all about Saturday morning cartoons.

And the Hanna-Barbera shows. I had a crush on both Electra Woman and Dyna-Girl.

Which as I think on it.

Explains a lot.

Oh shit, I’m a dangerous man with some money in my pocket.

24K Magic, Bruno Mars

I never said I was a role model.

Natalie’s Rap, Lonely Island feat. Natalie Portman

I’m hitting a serious wall right now.

There’s stuff bubbling up that I’d prefer not to relive.

I’m gonna go make dinner.

Living in the time of coronavirus. I am not a fan.

The work just isn’t rolling in, like I’d hoped. I’m half-surviving on CRB, which was cut in half recently, and runs out in October (unless the Liberals get another minority government, and even then, there’s no guarantee they’ll extend it further).

Considering how much we’ve paid for my teeth the past six weeks. And more to come next month.

The obvious answer: cut expenses.

Which would mean giving up basic cable. Which for some fucking reason, I cannot stomach doing. I don’t understand why. It’s just… anathema to the way I was brought up. Carol Burnett, Tim Conway, Mel Brooks. (Okay, the last one makes movies and not television, but they eventually aired on the small screen and I made it a point to watch Blazing Saddles, The Producers, Young Frankenstein et al, any chance I could.)

Yes, I realize we’d still have Netflix and Disney+, both of which are worth it. But I can’t let go of watching news, or stupid game shows, or baseball.

I have a problem.

I’ve never had a ‘Come to Jesus’ moment.

Can’t say I know anyone who has. Doesn’t mean they haven’t.

But I did come close.

After my breakdown. I wasn’t working, money was extremely tight.

I felt lost.

Found myself at Eastminster United Church one afternoon.

Not sure how I ended up there. Might’ve been across the street having coffee.

Anyway. It struck me to go inside, so I did.

And I prayed. For the first time in decades.

Lemme back up. I’m a lapsed Catholic. I split from the church in my teens, because I disagreed with my father being excommunicated after he’d had an affair and divorced. Well, that’s not the only reason. I don’t agree with many of their policies, including homosexuality, gay marriage, abortion, etc.

But I believed. Still do.

Just not sure in what.

So I consider myself mildly spiritual. I believe there’s more going on than we will ever know.

But that’s for philosophers and scientists to debate and discover.

If I was to affiliate with a church, it would be United.

I think that’s why I went there that afternoon.

This was the summer after my breakdown, so close to a year since I’d been in hospital.

So I prayed.

I cracked open a book of hymns.

The first held no meaning.

The second, however. Spoke about how He was there, before I even called to him.

It meant something. But clearly, it didn’t stick.

Because here I am, almost a decade later.

No closer to God than I was when I was ten.

Still wondering about that moment in the church.

I am left in the night, trembling with fear
I have seen to the future and the future is here
Our leader will bring victory but our land is in flames
And as the final sounds of battle disappear, I had to say

What about me and you and the ones that we love?
What about me and you and the ones that we love?
Well, what about us?

What About Me?, Chris de Burgh

We have a Federal election in a week.

I fear we’re gonna end up with a minority Conservative government.

With Donald-Trump Lite^TM at the helm.

The CONS have people running for election that don’t believe in getting vaccinated, are anti-abortion, believe in tax cuts for corporations and cutting services for you and me.

But, as happens when you’ve had one party in power for almost six years, people start blaming the incumbent for how shit their lives are. Things weren’t done fast enough, or at all, or whatever.

Bah. I don’t wanna write about politics.

We’ve had two minority Liberal governments, so of course they couldn’t get anything done. And COVID.

Dumb time to call an election.

End of story.

Please don’t vote in the Conservatives. That’s all I ask.

But yeah. Things could stay the same a week from now.

Or it could change.

I feel like I’ve been spinning my wheels trying to get consistent work since the spring.

Sure, there have been periods where I’ve been busy. But nothing sustainable.

Almost had a full-time job back in April. Went to the other guy.

Because he was a ‘better fit’.

Whatever that fucking means.

They still contracted me to lay out a 14-chapter benefits book.

I’ve got two other clients I’ve signed onto longer-term work with, but it’s not generating enough to keep me busy.

But who knows. It’s September, summer vacation is over and the pendulum tends to swing back as the temperatures dip.

Maybe the ideas will come for a new play as well.

I miss the focused intensity when fleshing out a story.

Eh. Even this bores me.

I wanna make a midnight run to the casino with Mollie again.

But that’ll have to be put on hold.

That’s money I don’t have to waste.

We had some good times. Mostly Mollie. I think I was her good luck charm.

A couple of times I did alright. Either lost very little or ended up a few bills.

And taking a 3am breakfast break at The Famous was awesome.

We usually started at Casino Niagara, and would walk through Clifton Hills after an hour or two to Fallsview, where we’d spend the next few hours. Though the past couple of times we just went to Fallsview and stayed until they kicked us out to vacuum before the day shift began.

Then we’d walk back to the bus terminal, and grab a few winks on the ride back to Toronto.

Sometimes I’d hit McDonald’s for a sausage & egg sandwich before trekking home.

Wow. I haven’t done a casino run in… three years?

Not since I moved in with Marlo and Coltrane.

Funny how priorities change.

Maybe some day.

But not today.

There I go again.

Overthinking.

And I know I’m overthinking and I catch myself.

It remains quiet for a few minutes.

Until BAM.

It hits again.

I’m parsing every word.

Listening for subtext.

Second guessing.

So I catch myself.

Because I know.

I fucking know.

Overthinking.

I need a distraction.

Marlo and I have a running joke.

Izzy likes to have conversations. And you know she’s telling a story. The nuance in meows is so bloody expressive.

Anyway. Izzy has a boyfriend.

A cat that lives in Denver, Colorado.

They met online. While we sleep, they chat over Zoom.

The story keeps evolving.

First, Izzy wanted to fly out to Denver to meet him.

We, of course, said no.

Having lived through a couple of long-distance relationships in my 30s, I have sound advice.

Be prepared to have your heart broken, cat. And that doesn’t mean it’ll be them that reconsiders the relationship.

Long distance is hard.

I dated women I’d met online. I can count them on one hand.

There will be no details.

These people are, mostly, still my friends.

And it’s not my place to share details.

But suffice to say, I’ve been on both sides of the coin.

Right.

Dunno why the tangent there.

Back to Izzy.

So yeah, the story’s evolved.

He wanted to visit her in Toronto. But we said he couldn’t stay at our condo. It wouldn’t be fair to Auggie, to be so horribly outnumbered by cats.

They’ve exchanged ‘I love yous’.

Now, Izzy says they want to elope to Vegas.

God dammit.

This is what my writing has boiled down to.

Recapping imaginary conversations with my pets.

I need a drink.

So I’m not gonna have one.

Because it shouldn’t be because of need.

Needing a first will, in turn, justify another.

Good thing I recognize when I can handle the drink. And when I can’t.

I’ve been out of sorts since yesterday.

Like an ill wind blew into town and upended my centre of gravity.

(Yes, I’m aware the wind has actually picked up outside in the last hour.)

Earlier, I made a trip to St. Lawrence Market for groceries, and the pharmacy for a package.

The sun was out. Light breeze.

It was of the good.

I need more moments like that.

Not doing great tonight.

Can’t put it in words.

Not coherently.

It’ll pass.

It always does.

But being in the moment.

Sucks.

I’m throwing off huge negative energy.

Which effects the household.

Hell.

A simple “the family wants to have dinner when Wayne and Donna come to town next month”.

Took on an ominous tone.

Like I was inviting them to dine in Cloud City.

With Vader the guest of honour.

Now there’s a humming sound.

Lasts maybe five seconds.

Silence.

Repeat.

I’m not crazy.

I’m not hearing things.

Well. I am.

But not imaginary things.