Sometimes, Pony is a little sad, and I don't mean to be a little storm cloud or drag anyone down. I just fixate on sad stories sometimes, but it doesn't mean I am actually feeling bad, or anything.
Yesterday I was in my cubicle for 11 fucking hours, and I am exhausterated. I feel all caged in and I need to go for a run so bad.
I went to the Rivoli for dinner after work with my mom. I chatted with the waiter, who I used to work with at the Queen Mother Cafe and he drew me a picture on the bill of a hand doing the universal sign of Rock'n'Roll!!!
I am still grossed out cuz our chicken satay was raw in the middle, and I had already swallowed a bite before I realised. I can still feel the texture in my mouth. uch.
I was really burnt, but I figured there is not much time left to enjoy Auntie Margaret. So we went up to the suburbs to visit with her and her two sisters are visiting from Wawa. Marg's neighbour and best friend was there, too, so it was four heads of permed hair with brown rinses, large spectacles, and polyester pants.
Marg's bed was in the living room, and we all sat around and dished. I talked about the CBC and they seemed keen. Marg's sisters are the type of women who write to their local members of parliament. They even got a reply from minister of justice, Anne McClellan, who said Robert Latimer's case was out of her hands. what do you mean it's out of your hands. that's ridiculous. she's the minister of justice. if it's not in her hands, whose hands is it in? (he was the farmer who euthenised his severeley handicapped daughter because he apparently could not stand to see her in so much pain). Marg's sisters thought he never should have been sent to jail.
We had great conversation. I woke Uncle Jack up to join us. He was snoring to beat the band, so I climbed up onto the bed, tugged his ear, and gave him a snuggle. While we ladies were chatting about everything from pug dogs to politics, uncle Jack was going on about his latest obsession: chelation therapy. He wants me to get the CBC to do a story on it.
We'll see, uncle Jack.
We talked about what the best age is: Marg: your age, Adina sister 1: my 40's sister 2: my 60's were very enjoyable Uncle Jack: until the age of 5. Then it's all downhill
I hugged Marg before I go, and my arm touched her breast, which had slipped out of her nightgown. Boobie touching between women is kinda funny. You're like: Hey, what's that soft thing? Oh, it's yer boob! Any other time, she would have been embarassed, but now that her body is dying, she just laughed. And I laughed too. But it's like I can still feel it, sort of, on my arm.
I was not the most conscientious employee this week, and I have decided to forget about dressing more conventionally and brushing my hair. But I did propose a story, which they actually went through with! A llittle girl was killed by a rotweiller dog and I thought it would be interesting to interview someone who rescues and trains "dangerous dogs".The woman was a little wan, but they took my story! Yay! but really, really sad about that kid. Geez.
