The more things change, the more they stay the same.

The further I dig myself into this, the more it stops looking like a problem and feeling like home.

Dig up, I tell myself. Dig up.


I don’t know what it supposed to happen next. It always seems like some grand story, some amazing tale that unfolds itself beneath my feet, never letting me falter, never letting me stumble. As critical as things become, it’s all cardboard sets and hollywood drama, you know, you always know exactly what’s going to happen in the end. The crisis is averted, the hero is unharmed, the good guys ride into the sunset. Fade to black.

Except perhaps in indie films.


The prospect of a forced social life, of unwanted company bothers me some. I’ve spent the last two months hardly leaving my house, and I don’t see why that’s going to change anytime soon. Money, even for bus fare to visit a friend, or perhaps a job interview, is scarce. The food supplies are dangerously low, morale is weak.

Napoleon would know what to do, I think. He didn’t make it in the end, though, did he? History does not shine on little french men with big hats, it seems.

I read somewhere that scientists had proven that he was, in fact, poisoned by his own men. No matter how brilliant, no matter how powerful his strategies were, he was doomed from the start. He never could’ve won.

I wonder if he saw it coming. If he knew, in those last hours, that nothing could do would make any difference. It would end the same.

Fade to black.


I am out of contract work, having expertly sabotaged my ability to get more, and no full-time employment is presenting itself. Nothing I consider a job, at least. I might be doing phone surveys by the end of the week, I think. It’s not quite as bad as telemarketing, and it may not pay well enough to support the lifestyle I’m used to, but it might leave me enough money for food, and perhaps a bus pass. It’d be nice, considering I didn’t have one for May, nor does it look like I’ll have one for June. I was stuck inside all month, even on my birthday. Unlimited travel is necessary. I’d like to see the sun again.

This lifestyle is killing me.


I don’t want to do this anymore. I don’t want to.

I don’t want to go back home to Ottawa and run crying back to mommy and my little friends and my little life I’ve tried so many times to leave behind me. I don’t want to. No.

But still, I tell myself, I can get a lame tech support job for decent money, get a decent apartment in the middle of nowhere, and spend all my spare cash on coffee in familiar diners.

It’s seductive, if only because it’s safe. I’ve done it before. It may be passionless, but it doesn’t hurt, not like this does.

I think if I didn’t have Jes here to help keep me sane, I would’ve gone back long before. I don’t think I would’ve made it back to Toronto, to be honest. I would’ve lived a quiet existence, working midnight shifts and playing video games in my spare time. Perhaps I might’ve gone out to see friends too, once in a while.

Perhaps I wouldn’t have even noticed the world swallowing me whole, taking away any light I still have left in my eyes.

I can be so melodramatic.


I need to see the sun. I need to go out with friends, smoke cigarettes and argue the nature of reality over a good breakfast, somewhere in the city.

I need to feel whole again.