A few days ago, a twenty-one-year-old white male named Kane Kosolowsky set off two bombs in the basement of a Sherwood Park community centre. He was found in his car, suffering from a gunshot wound, from which he later died. The RCMP has indicated that the blasts weren’t related to a group or ideology, and that’s led to coverage like this…
I have one more shift, and then finally, after sixteen straight days of work with only two Sundays off, I can be free. There’s real poison in the ice cream now, and it’s in every bite. Even if my bite is as sweet as can be, someone at the table beside me is choking. It’s a stressful way to spend my days, and it does a real disservice to the headspace available, but hey—I suppose that’s work for everyone.
I stayed up far too late last night, as the timing of my post could tell you. I didn’t feel like daylight savings time had really taken effect until tonight. It’s six o’clock and it’s practically twilight out there—I didn’t miss this at all. I’m worried about my seasonal depression coming back early this year, but I think it’s a baseless worry. I’m a different person now than I was last year, and though I don’t expect to sail through this winter as a happy, carefree boi, I think my life jacket will do a good job of keeping my head above water.
It’s so late. I’ve lived through one a.m. twice now thanks to the Cher-like powers of Daylight Saving’s Time, and I’ve yet to crack my word count for the day. But, here’s the thing. This sixteen hundred words, it’s just about the novel for National Novel Writing Month, and I work on my short stories every day now in the spirit of that, I put out twelve hundred words tonight and finally finished one of them.
No lies, I had what I’m calling a super sexy day. Not only did I feel great, but I looked great. It’s funny how my laziest outfits make me look the best—my t-shirt and blazer combos, sweaters and secretly dirty button ups, it doesn’t matter. It just seems like the less I try with my style, the better things go; it’s like my guitar playing: less is more. I made eye contact with several women who felt like they were checking me out, and one man.
Does no one else remember the episode of Charlie Brown where he meets a little girl who has a weird cough and bruises easily? Did no one—other than myself, learn about death at the same time as ole’ Chuck? Charlie Brown faced his ultimate humiliation in the face of cancer in this episode, losing the only person that every truly loved him to a sudden and shocking end. I only remember two moments from the episode clearly; the first being ole’ Chuck walking this lil’ girl onto the bus and her hitting her elbow.
Tomorrow I start my sixteen hundred word-per-day quota. I initially thought I was going to write a brand-new novel like I should be doing, but instead, I’ll be using National Novel Writing Month to finish my collection of short stories. Tomorrow the work begins, but tonight it’s Halloween and I’ve been flooded with amazing memories throughout the day, so, let’s talk about that.
Every so often there comes a time where I have to admit defeat. I get stretched to my limits occasionally—but it’s a good thing, it’s how I find new limits. But to push the limits past where they used to sit, I have to come down here, it seems. Life hasn’t found a way to help me without hurting me just yet, and if I was writing a movie, this is where Will Smith would say, “this is the part of my life I call character building.”