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Of Collapsing Bridges
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Dreams
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I dreamed I had set out, late at night, in London-not-London, to find a shop and buy some cigarettes.
Walking under a wooden bridge, overpass, when a car going overhead collapses the bridge, it falls upon me, rotting wood and timbers, I am unscathed.
And keeping walking until I get to the High Street where I see a light in a pub, or what I think to be a pub, and going inside find that it's some sort of party venue, people are "skating" in an marble oval, slipping on the floor in stocking-clad feet, there's a man (??) urging or singing to them, like the old roller-rinks but with socks and feet on bare floor...
I'm looking for cigarettes, no luck here, although I try to take some pictures with my phone, the space is fantastic, but too cramped to take it all in and I give up trying...
I'm followed out of the rink by a petite Asian woman. She wants to walk with me, and I see no harm, but once outside she stops and begins to threaten me, if I don't (??) she'll call for help, claim I beat her, and who would they believe?
Another bridge, I am underneath it again, collapsing, and then another and I am in a Subway or Metro somewhere in France, "Leavenworth station" I remember, and it's collapsing as well, and the floor, a mosaic tile in the Roman Style - same as on the floor in the previous collapsing overpass/bridge/metro/, somehow the two are connected, the mosaic, it depicts a couple - the missus and master of the house, I recognize them (???) ...
I wake from the dream, strange images and feelings - and immediately go to write it down...
And awake again from the dream to discover I've written nothing down at all and so try to recall it again...
(Strange dream, poorly recalled, the key feature was that I was beneath 3 collapsing bridges, and somehow survived every one...No doubt related to my leaving work.)
Summer's End
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 847
The September long, long, loooooooong weekend finally past and I'm done.
This year - every year, longer than the last, longer like no other.
Monday night, a wrap, meet up with the owner's son in town for a beer. It's back to work Thursday, by myself, open to close, but the major rushes, insane business, they're done, it should be manageable.
SHOULD BE.
I've a try-out tonight at another job, a bistro/winebar in town, better food. Shorter hours - a lot shorter. 6, sometimes 7 hours per day, vs, the 10, 11, 12 I'm doing now. And a ten minute walk from home, not a 30 minute drive in a jeep that no longer runs.
I need this. I need some balance in my life, and as much as I'm loathe to work on a day off this may be my ticket out of there.
They won't take it well, nevermind, I'm too sensitive to this - there were weeks I worked more than he and his wife did together, and I'm done. Never again. Done working with the wife who somehow thought the ice well, water jugs all magically refilled themselves, that the fruit would cut itself if you left it long enough, that there were fairies that popped out of the walls to bus the tables for her. Too many times I've busted my ass to stop and catch my breath and discover that in fact I had only 3 tables and all my running was caused by her...
And the son, well, he'd have to show up for me to comment, and- for a good bulk of the summer he managed not to.
"Congratulations" he says to me..."We made it...".
No. I made it, the donkey with the carrot on the stick in front of him, he - the person riding the donkey. "We" didn't make it.
Anyways, tryout tonight, hopefully new doors opening to smaller, more manageable rooms, and there's always that sadness when you leave something behind but - it's time.
It's time.
The taste of impending famine...
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 965
The last few weeks, cooler, rainy, in the evening downright cold. AN early start to autumn, no complaining after all the heat and smoke and misery of a too brief summer.
Counting down the days until the end of the September long weekend- when business, as usual, will drive off the first of many cliffs and the owners will give their head a shake and reconsider the "Open all winter...".
The last few days - Friday most notably, but then on through the weekend - business much slower. MUCH slower.
Not 3 or 4 waiter days, more 1.2, 1.5 waiter days. Busier than one can handle, slow for 2. The mask mandates have driven away the Albertans, most sensible people are declining to dine in, our business is switching to take away. And so while I've been dreading this, the last few days, it might have all been for naught.
Around the restaurant, the owner's son, his wife, they're together taking every other day off. Wigglesworth - our investment in a hefty little heifer from Trail, failed, she couldn't close numerous nights - birthday parties, family events, had to leave early, then couldn't come to work one day - was nervous driving in the rain, then, following payday had her mother call in with a "CRISIS" - her mother - !!!! FOR FUCKS SAKES!!!! WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE!!!!????
Anyways, a "Domestic Abuse" situation, or so we're told, probably a fight over the last dilly-bar in the fridge or some other such nonsense, I've run out of any sort of compassion for these people - the best job she'll ever have, never have again, and she's quit.
So down to me and the absent owner's son and his absent wife.
5 days to go, and then we'll see what's up.
The weather, it improves my mood, and now walking a great deal more than I'd like - well, time a bit to think and make other plans. Plans for the winter, plans for moving, plans to find some wheels, all sorts of plans, the gears are turning and I've only 2 months to get my shit together...
The roundabout road to a Jeep's demise (or: ALWAYS LOOK A GIFT JEEP IN THE MOUTH!!)
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- Written by: Rod Boyle
- Category: Blog
- Hits: 933
Last week, a new fuel filter. I'd set out on a trip to Revelstoke, thrifting, exploring, maybe some prospecting, but the Jeep sputtered, lost power, and somewhere around New Denver I came to my senses and decided it would be a lot better to break down nearer to home.
Turn around, plans abandoned.
Change the fuel filter.
This seems to fix things for a bit, but there's something new, always a new surprise under the hood. This a shaking and rattling as the Jeep changes gears. This, you can tell while riding, will be no trivial thing. So call and make an appointment with the mechanics.
"Maybe a U-Joint" they tell me. Fingers crossed.
Of course it's not a U-Joint, it's the transmission, it's shot. Completely. Add to this various oil leaks, seals, no suspension in the back end, shocks, welding...
And the grand total will be $5200. Roughly.
The answer is, of course, no, it should have been no a long time ago. $8000 in repairs in a little over a year and the jeep is still going over a fucking cliff, I could have been driving a new Wrangler - all the time, not just every other week - for the same as I've put into this. So - for this year - the gathering and prospecting is largely done, time now to address my income and find the means to level up my wheels.
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