I never cease to be surprised...

I've been sick as hell all weekend -- suspect the flu -- and had to dogsit at my friend's house, as they were away for the weekend, and the dog was only recently adopted.

So there I was -- cold sweats, congestion, running nose, sneezing, exhaustion and aches everywhere. In someone ele's house. My appetite was (and still is) shit.

I had received an interesting email from a potential editor (and some potential travel writing), and called my friend (who posts here as Skeine) to pass on the good news.

She was at my favourite Chinese food restaurant.

"You bitch," I muttered.
"I wouldn't say that to me," she said airily. "I'm getting you wonton soup."

And that, my friends, is the mark of a good friend going above and beyond the call of duty... yet again. She brought me soup, as well as a DVD and a bottle of wine -- intending to keep me company in my miserable state. Hell, she even helped me walk the dog (jogging with an energetic dog in a state of illness just doesn't jive so well).

And so I say here... Skeine, dear -- you fucking ROCK.

Watching the fares around me drop...

It's almost like playing the stock market -- how much will fares to Bangkok drop over the next week or two? When is optimal to purchase them?

And with Thai elections being announced for October, would it be safe to travel in November?

Actually, to tell the truth, I'm not entirely opposed to being somewhere that's slightly unstable. Especially if that means cheaper fares. Maybe that's insane of me. Who knows?

Stupid coup....

Ok, so I was planning a trip to Thailand. But then the creditors came after me.

After a bit, I decided I would resume my intention to go. And then the military staged a coup against the Thai prime minister.

I get the feeling that perhaps Thailand and I are not meant to be at this particular juncture in time...

God, I could really use some good news soon.
Something.
Anything.

Just so I could happy for a day, and not feel like every step I take to improve my life sets me back one more. Ok, tthere's a bit of hyperbole there, but this is just one of those days when all of the bad stuff outweighs the good in disgusting amounts.

Cut us poor slobs a break once in while, won't you?

------

Later:

Just so's I could feel really good about my career in writing, I just discovered (accidentally, on one of those vile-yet-amusing gossip blogs I read) that the David Beckham just published a book (just after his wife's book's release) and Ashton Kutcher is writing for Harper's Bazaar.

Not exactly the good fuzzies I was looking for, but thanks anyway.

International Talk Like A Pirate Day

Arrrrrrrr!

It be me favourite time of year -- International Talk Like A Pirate Day, and there's nothing that warms the tips of me scurvy little boots like knowing there be plenty of seadogs talking about.

So, laddies and wenches, dust off yer cutlasses, don your hats and squint up a storm... for we be pirates today!

Arr.

Lying awake in bed...

Nothing kills a Sunday night sleep like being over-rested.

I slept until 11 am yesterday morning. By 2:30 pm, I was already dozing on the couch again.

Not surprisingly, this left me with an abundance of energy last night. So at about 2:30 am, I lay awake considering karma, My Life Is Earl, and something mildly mean I did last week (although techically, I didn't do anything -- I am known in my circles as something of an enabler. I encourage people do be evil).

As I twisted up in my blankets with Chris snoring quietly beside me and the raccoons outside making a ruckus in the garbage, I came across a terrible thought. What if karma had exponential payback? You know, you do something kind of wrong, and suddenly all of your teeth spontaneously fall out.

In just that moment, Chris rolled over and accidentally punched me in the eye.

Karma.

Is that my... my... conscience? Seriously?

It seems I have one after all. Of course, the mildly illegal activity (to which I was an accomplice last week) wasn't the primary reason for those pangs of guilt.

I blame watching the first 10 episodes of My Name Is Earl. That show is the perfect rehabilitation for those of us who are "good people with a touch of bad." You sit and think, "What would Earl do? Would he advocate punching this douchebag in the face? Or would sit back and let karma do the ass-kicking for him?"

Because Earl is cool. And he has a moustache.

If I could write for any TV show, I think this would be it.
Hire me, you fuckers.

"It's wrong, but it tastes delicious"

I never cease to be amazed by how something as innocent as a walk down the street can turn into its own little adventure -- crime, deception, comedy... and tasty dumplings.

That was Thursday.

Yesterday, however, was spent at home, doing very little and eating very badly. I need fresh food. Already I can feel the scrurvy creeping up on me. By tomorrow, my teeth may have fallen out. And won't that be attractive, my dears? *smacks gums*

The leaves on the tree outside our apartment are started to be infected with yellow, fall-type leaves. This is distressing, as it leaves (oops, no pun intended) no doubt that summer is indeed over. I'm not yet prepared for six months of cold, snow, slush and ice.

I figure I've got until early November to keep using my bike, before having to retire it for the season. I really must get out of Canada as much as possible this winter.

Ironically, I love fall. But it carries such a burden.

The hag of winter will soon be upon us.

Stephen Baldwin

Incidentally... does anyone else get terribly amused by celebrities who turn into militant churchies?

According to A Socialite's Life: "On the Hollywood list of people I pray for often, Tom Cruise is probably No. 1," the youngest of the Baldwin brothers told Radar Online. "I'd love to break bread with him and pray with him, and I'd love for the Holy Spirit of God to reveal the truth to him."

Fascinating... And not a little scary.

Hump day indeed...

I was initially going to comment on how delighted I was knowing the week was nearly over.

Until I realized tomorrow is only Thursday.

The very large hiccup (or rather, heart attack) in my financial affairs has been temporarily solved, thanks to the assistance of a very kind friend and a very large sum of money on temporary loan. This friend has been offered my first born. They accepted.

Sucker.

Any child I create will be intrinsically horrible, evil and very much inclined to make nasty, cutting remarks with a sweet smile. A double-edged gift... and very appropriate for said friend.

So my pride has been taken down a notch, my expenses now warrant a second look and I shall be applying for a job that looks promising. One of very few.

My deadlines for the week have all been completed and submitted on time. I am currently deadline-free. Now if I can just get some of those nice little cheque-things in the mail, things will look up.

I'm trying to think of a way to channel my writing and blogging into a simultaneous way of making money. Like writing online with a PayPal account for artistic donations. Huh? Huh?

I keep feeling like there's a great idea out there just waiting for me to discover... so far, it's an elusive little bastard. I hear little giggles from the side, but when I turn my head, the cheshire cat has disappeared.

What I want -- more than anything right now (aside from money, an agent, publishing deal and the absence of cancer) -- is for some omnipotent being to swoop down and whisper some words of encouragement in my ear. Reassurance. The knowledge that the skimpy little trees in my yard will one day bear fruit.

It's too much to ask, isn't it?

Fuck.

Today was a bloody nightmare.
I'll be glad when it's over.

My credit rating will be saved, but I just lost a little more dignity. And respect for myself.

Ask and ye shall receive...

I think this was Ro's post title a few days ago.

Anyway, I was thinking for the last few days that I could do with a nice surprise. A hidden check. Maybe an agent. My friend's return from Afghanistan.

Something.

And boy, did I get it.

My finances were fucked up over the summer. I missed not one but two credit card payments. They sent the file to a collection agency.

I have until Thursday at noon to come up with $5000.

Or my credit is fucked for the next seven years. (The small shining cloud in this mess is that apparently my credit is actually pretty good.)

Oh fuck.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck...

I always joke about throwing myself in fron of a train. This is the first time I've actually seriously considered it.

Step away...

Walking home just now, I noticed a truck stopped in the middle of the street -- engine running -- for no apparent reason.

That is, until I saw a skunk sitting in the glare of lights looking v-e-r-y annoyed. It was about two metres away from me. It's scraggly little tail (ah, urban wildlife... always looking like it smokes some very cheap crack) rose and flooffed up. (I realize I made that word up. Shut up.)

If it sprayed, there was a good likelihood of being hit.

I backed up slowly, tripping on someone's tipped compost container.

Fortunately, the skunk ran away... but the people in the truck were laughing at the expression on my face. Easy for them to chortle. They were protected by ye olde steel and windows.


--


I've been a lazy blogger, but was an unfortunate combination of being away for a week, catching up on work and trying to cover stuff for the Toronto International Film Festival.

Will return to regularly scheduled posts in a few days...