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Generally Unsettled
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 757
And feeling generally unsettled, like the weather.
Grey, clouds, cooler - there's the wanting to make a final assault on Crystal Mountain, only there's the caution of knowing that a 6 hour drive will probably be repaid with snow. This working less, it's like getting out of a prison, it leaves one confused. The new job, it settles into it's rhythm, meet the people, new job a lot like the old job, only a lot less money and a lot less hours. Time more to remember myself, only I largely seem to have forgotten, review notes - what was I up to again that was so important?
There's finding a new place to live - this, with a mere 6 weeks to go - should be more of a priority - the place on offer in Queens Bay, it demands a car - and a willingness to drive that same drive all over again, in reverse, and I'm loathe to do it. So - start searching for a place in Nelson. Only 6 weeks to go. And there's the hoard of junk and art supplies to be dealt with, the repacking of the small locker, the jeep - still to be dealt with, it's like raiding the last 2 summer's tomb, the graveyard of hard work and foolish money, it needs to be done, but maybe not just RIGHT now...
That is all. Out of sorts, the change in season, weather, job, and soon to be accommodations, they're all taking their toll...
Treasure hunting...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Found
- Hits: 717
Meanwhile, enjoying this time off from work, not "Time Off" per se, but reasonable schedule, and making use of the reasonable time off to search for all the treasures I missed this summer. With little success.
Tuesday, the long drive to Cranbrook, there are a few thrift shops there worth perusing, but no great finds, the Salvation Army - ridiculously priced, broken and unstrung violins priced at $150 apiece, less for a working one at a pawn shop, other junk I didn't need and wouldn't have paid 10 cents on the dollar for, the junk shop in Yahk closed, the thrift shops in Creston, while full, had nothing I needed or wanted, and so the day was a bust. And I thought, as I was driving, that I should just stay home, read a book, and then chastised myself for my lack of ambition, but - really, I would have been better off at home reading that book....
This weekend, down to Castlegar, Rossland, nada.
Well, not entirely Nada. A giant costume horses head - plush, like would be worn by a furry or a mascot. Perfect for You-Know-Who, who has a birthday coming. On that note today, a spread of unadvertised garage sales, a few junktiques, one garage sale with a truly disturbing quantity of barbie dolls and generic 50's, 60's plastic dolls, eye-blinkers every one of them, and so I picked one up, brunette, 2 1/2 feet tall, perfect for Ken's birthday - the idea is coming together in my head - this year, a mixed-media performance art dance - little leather pony girl on hobby-horse watching me dance and prance in the nude around her wearing my horses head, all for Ken.
He will appreciate it. And I haven't given way all the details, so be prepared for the video that will immortalize this, his fortieth-odd birthday. Meanwhile for the next week or so I gotta live with this disturbing shit fucking up my living room, and trust me, it poisons the subconscious...
Of a tone
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
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My dreams, lately, of a tone. Largely forgettable, one a few days ago:
That I was escaping a prison - with a group of other people, friends, I don't know. They looked the same as me, ordinary, nobody that I knew. And that we had escaped from this prison - that was pretty much just a city and life in general, and we were running up some fenced in stairway on the outskirts and I spotted other people - just watching us - more grey, ordinary people, only they might be guards, the way they were watching us, and they were only giving us so far to run and so I pulled myself up on a bar at the top of a flight of stairs, turned around, began kicking them down the stairwell, we were so close to escaping and these guards weren't going to stop us now, still I'm kicking them down the stairs and they're watching and if only I can get to the top we'll be free...
**Which was a strange dream, as the "Prison" in the dream, it was the idea it was a prison, there was no prison, the closest to prison I could see was the fenced-in stairway. But probably an apt dream to follow my change in employ...***
And today, that I was in the forest and giant baseballs kept landing around me, clumping through the trees. I looked around and couldn't see where they were coming from - full sized baseballs, softballs, big, and heavy. More come crashing through and finally I come to the edge of the forest and see a road in a ravine below, a fence across the road, and a lady in a baseball uniform comes over the hill looking for her balls. I try to throw them back to her, but they're too heavy, they fall to the ravine, don't make it across, and I'm embarrassed at how badly I throw...
...and more like that, forgettable, even when I prompt myself to remember. The same light, lack of imagination, in each one, an unhealthy tone that suggests I need some change.
Shutout
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 849
First shift at the new job. Smaller dining room, patio, get it all set up and wait.
And wait.
And wait.
And - before you know it - time to close. A complete and utter shut-out. Not a single walk in or reservation.
Next weeks schedule - only 2 shifts. This pleases me, but - if they're shut-outs as well my income will be at best precarious.
So, as bad as the other job was perhaps I should have stayed put...
Nope. Nope nope nope. Time now to get on to other things, and this puts the fire under my ass...
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