Took an extra strength sleeping pill to trick my system into shifting to daylight normalcy tomorrow. Let’s see if I can write something half decent before my head lolls onto my shoulder, mouth agape. I already feel heavy eye lids and dizziness. The power of placebo! I doubt my body is assimilating it already.

Why don’t I like Rescue Rangers? Well, before my VHS horror movie phase, I used to always run to the Disney section of Village Video to pick out one of the compilation videos made up of old toons, mostly from the 50’s. Donald Duck, Goofy, Chip ‘n Dale, maybe Mickey Mouse. The old Goofy toons are great but I think Donald Duck was my favorite. Specifically, the one where he is playing hockey with his nephews on the outdoor pond. Or the one where he is trying to steal honey from a big honey bee nest that’s like a medieval castle. Yeah. That one’s the best. Still some of those Donald Duck cartoons with Chip n’ Dale were superb too. Dale was the stupid one, but Chip wasn’t all that bright either. He was kind of sadistic in his revenge towards Donald though. I don’t think I liked that.

Anyway, I liked Chip n’ Dale much better when all they were worrying about was collecting nuts and guarding their tree. When Disney made it into an after school adventure sitcom, they lost all credibility with me. Even though I was only eleven or so, I knew they were selling out. They dressed Chip as an Indiana Jones clone and put him in charge. They gave Dale this gaudy, red Hawaiian shirt and a mentality that was ripped right from Weekend at Bernie’s. Then they throw in fat Australian chipmunk stereotype, “Monty”, and Gadget, a female know-it-all chipmunk with a voice that could pierce metal. And then there was that green bug mascot who I hated most of all. Fuck, I wanted him to die.

So, yeah, it was lame. Not funny at all. Boring. If I wanted to see that type of show, Inspector Gadget did it much better. Also, I don’t like how Chip n’ Dale moved from their forest wildlife habitat and into the city. It’s a shift away from ecological wisdom and movement into urban dystopia. Out of the Disney half hour shows, Gummi Bears was my favorite. There were all kinds of darker themes lurking just beneath the surface.

Look, no genitalia!

So warm and sunny today. Walked to work and now I’m all gross and sticky underneath my suit. (I change here) Bleah. I want coffee but don’t want anything hot. My only option here is instant sludge. Iced cappuccino would be yummy. Coffee coffee coffee coffee. Hazelnut cream coffee with lots of sugar and cream and ice cubes would be sublime. I saw a chipmunk on my walk home this morning. Back home, chipmunks are common and squirrels are rare. Around here, the reverse is true. Reverse? Or inverse? I was going to write that the relationship is inversely proportional but thought that sounded too nerdy. But anyway, yeah, that was my big thrill of the day. The chipmunk reminded me of home. And Donald Duck cartoons. Not Rescue Rangers though. I always hated that show.

In my last post I was complaining about having too much free time. What’s wrong with me? There are wars on. Global poverty, disease and starvation are widespread epidemics. The environment is going to shit. And all I’ve got is boredom. Stress over which city to start my decadent middle class life in. Worry over how my body looks. Self-improvement is masturbation. There’s a little Pahalniuk gem. Well, if it’s masturbation then why am I so sore? Wait. That’s not a contradiction.

My work schedule is changing. The new upcoming schedule is brutal but also offers intriguing possibilities. Every third week I’m going to get a four day week-end. As it is now, I never get a week-end off, just Tuesday to Thursday. I have no clue how to even handle a week-end anymore. Does anyone know where the local sock hop or ice cream social is? Four days means I’m not strictly tied to London anymore either. I’ll have to think about this.

The plant called and said if you don’t come in tomorrow, don’t bother coming in Monday. Woohoo! Four Day Week-end!

Mr. Yao is cramping my style. This gentleman is a fifty-something Chinese investment broker who likes to visit during my nightshifts. This is problematic because it cuts into valuable sauna and nap time.

I’ve known him for the few years I’ve worked here and I suppose we’re friends. He owns a condo here that he uses as his office. His secretary lives there in an unorthodox arrangement that seems sexually peculiar. Like many in my monkeysphere, Mr. Yao is an eccentric character. He has slyly tipped me off to the fact that he’s a millionaire, yet he still unabashedly roots around in the lobby wastebasket for Subway 2-for-1 coupons. On the weekend he often brings in two girls with him that are younger than I, all gussied up in hootchie gear. He is married with kids but apparently is a week-end sugar daddy also.

For some reason, he loves me. The other guards have confirmed this, apparently I’m his favorite topic of discussion. He generally comes in early at 4am or so to check the Asian markets before the day begins. Often, he’ll reek of weed and engage me in lengthy conversations. I think he likes to bounce investment strategy off of me, because he’ll talk about companies, political movements or whatever is topical in the news. I don’t know if it’s just because he’s stoned, or if I’m just so delightful to talk to, but he’ll sometimes stay for hours chatting me up. He likes to break the ice by bringing newspaper clippings of random topics that he thinks I’ll find interesting.

Currently he is bugging me to install games on his laptop. He keeps buying these cheap bargain bin PC games but he doesn’t know how to install them. So he accumulates a bunch of them, and then brings them to me with his laptop. He pays me and brings me goodies and stuff so I suppose it’s not that bad.

At my workplace most of the residents are elderly. It’s a building of upscale condos, an attractive looking place with many amenities. The small staff, including myself, was hired from a security company. Each guard has a second interview with the condo manager to weed out the unsavory characters. They want comely, well-spoken, young men to dress up in suits and function not only as guards but as general all-round slaves. We help with luggage, call cabs, schedule parties and deal with the catering staff, set up for moves and deliveries etc. There are lots of little duties and procedures to do and follow. Since most people are elderly we occasionally deal with death too.

Last month a gentleman died at a local hospital of cerebral bleeding after he slipped outside on some ice. (Snowfall was very heavy this year in London and I believe the city exhausted their snow removal budget in January. As a result, sidewalk conditions were awful for the last half of winter.) This man previously had a stroke and couldn’t speak anymore. Still, every morning at 7a.m. or so, he went for a morning walk. The front doors are very heavy. However this older gentleman would walk with a determined, fast stride and push those doors open effortlessly. If I only had one word to describe him it would be strong. I recently found out he was 85. I was very surprised and awed to know that he was in such good shape at that advanced age.

Anyway, this past week end, I talked to his widow for the first time since his death. I told her of how I perceived him and she told me that he had regarded his stroke as more of a challenge than a debilitation. That he had incredible moral strength as well as physical. At the time, she was mailing responses to condolence letters from across Canada regarding his death. He was the father of a very recognizable Canadian celebrity and had a full page obituary in the Globe and Mail, a national newspaper. He was the recipient of the full page on his own merit though.

I expressed genuine concern and interest to the widow, so she went to her condo and brought me a photocopy of the obituary article. He had been flown in the RAF during World War II as a Flight Lieutenant and Wing Commander. He had received the Distinguished Flying Cross from King George and had survived over fifty bombing missions. The article outlined his remarkable life in and after the war which I thought it was incredibly inspiring. Much more so since I had known and seen his strength and courage in person, unmistakable and impossible to miss even in his mid-eighties and after a serious stroke. A brave man from a brave generation, who had calm and determination that probably resulted from being under the most dangerous conditions for such a long time. I hope I can carry myself that well.

I’ve been watching a little more television. Mostly at work but a bit at home too. This means one or two hours a day as opposed to the previous amount of zero hours daily, which was the typical amount during the hectic past few months. I can’t deal with the commercials. I really can’t. I actually believe that there are some good things on TV but the vapid mindfucks that interrupt shows every 5 minutes ruin everything. Absurd, soulless drivel. You can step back and look at them objectively to recognize the meticulous planning that went into every little nuanced image and sound. All designed to force their brand through your synapses, to carve that fucking logo right though your brain. But they do it sweetly, cutely, with pop music, slick morphing images, comedy, big stunts and booms. It’s impossible to look at this shit objectively all the time. It just takes too much mental energy. You tune it out and it permeates in. Fuck I can’t stand it. This is where all our artists end up. Advertising bitches. God fucking damnit.

So I turn to music. Or audio books. I’ve become pretty good at focusing during the constant flow of speech of an audio book. It takes some discipline to stay with the narration and not drift off on your own tangents. Maybe this is why I’m finding the fragmented broadcast of television so abhorrent lately. Unfortunately, focusing is something I’m fairly incapable of doing in actual university lectures. I suppose it was the material. Stepping through algorithms and Turing machine proofs isn’t very enthralling.

Anyway, I’m almost done my audio book lecture series on classical mythology. I already know I want more. More detail, more depth. I listened to lectures on Heracules/Hercules and the Trojan war today. I really enjoyed it. Greek myth is full of excellent, funny, ironic and extremely entertaining stories. The old Hercules cartoon I used to watch on weekend mornings left out all the good stuff. I don’t remember the episode where he killed his children in a rage. Or the one where he slept with fifty women in one night. Was that in the Disney version? Cause I haven’t seen that yet. The Minotaur and the Labyrinth are a frequently borrowed theme too. Although all the contemporary versions I’ve seen leave out the part where Aphrodite infects Queen Pasiphae with sexual desire for the king’s prized bull which leads to the Minotaur’s conception.

So, now that I actually have a little free time, I’ll probably be setting up instant messaging later today. I’m going to use Trillian which integrates AIM, MSN, ICQ and other clients too, so if you want to be added, send me an email (there’s a link on the side of this page) with the info I need. I have a pre-existing MSN account but only two of my five contacts actually ever message me.

I just had a much needed week of fun and hedonism with a clingy succubus at my side. I let go and enjoyed it. We spent a lot of time downtown. I used some of my useless knowledge of indie music to win some free CD’s. Listened to live music. Hot Hot Heat. Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings. Cover bands. Memory loss from alcohol. Mini putt. Comic books. Awkward coffee shop trio with past and current girlfriend. Labatt brewery tour. Theater movies. Video Games. Sex. Cookies. Sugar Mountain Candy. Cats. Galleries. Fish. Trois Pistoles. Blanche de Chambly. Barakat. Hmm. So it was good. A vacation that purged accumulated stress, restlessness and insecurities.

The problem with these weekly rendezvous’ I have with Merle is that she can be perfect for a week. I really did have fun with her. Her cheeriness and excitement is infectious. I was showered with ego inflating compliments all week long. She did many niceties and unasked favours. She has a very large libido that at least matches mine, and the longer I stay with her, the more I become convinced that sex will never get boring between us. I enjoy her possessiveness and jealousy when it doesn’t cross a dangerous threshold. I catch myself thinking, “Who are you trying to fool? Yes, ok, she may have some bizarre quirks and mentally instabilities but she’s your perfect compliment. If you leave her, do you think you’ll ever find a woman who worships you like this again? What the hell is wrong with you?”

…And then the neurons containing a strong memory from when we were living together activate. The memory where I thought to myself, “I promise that no matter what happens, I will not marry this girl. She will make life unbearable. Miserable. Don’t ever forget this. Living with her is absolute hell. Never move in with her again. Not all women are like this. At least I hope not.” So after I have a good week with her, I wonder which set of promises will be broken, the ones I made with myself or with her.

We met, or hooked up, or whatever in a coed residence. We were on the same floor. Floor incest. The next year we lived with another couple in a rented house. It was the worst living arrangement I’ve ever experienced. Merle is a neat freak and an explosive personality. The other male was very messy and …. ahh never mind. It was unpleasant. A tale for another day. The next two years we lived together in an on-campus apartment exclusively. After we parted ways, her to go to teacher’s college in the states, I into a second undergrad program, we had to pay over $600 damages on the apartment. Damages that mostly resulted from the unfortunate trait I inherited from my Italian grandfather of punching walls in extreme frustration. Our posters were strategically placed. I do have a deep well of patience and it is exceedingly difficult to make me very angry. But I know that when I am provoked, it is possible to ignite a dark, intense rage that first smolders and then explodes. I envision my eyes going red, my teeth gritting and whole body tensing. Oddly enough, I grin a demonic smile too. It is in these moments that I scare myself and Merle. I know I’m incapable of hurting her though. A strong mother and good father made sure this moral was firmly embedded into my core (my grandfather apparently didn’t have this and is now divorced from my grandmother and is somewhat of a black sheep.). Anyway, my point was not to reveal a fatal character flaw but that Merle has an uncanny ability to ignore the overt warning signs I emit to totally frustrate and infuriate me regularly. In these moments, my internal censor that weighs consequences dies. I am viciously honest and brutal which deeply hurts Merle. Typically, she then cries for an indeterminate amount of time, which will elicit my affection once my rage dies. She will then pretend all I said was untrue, everything gets all better and the cycle is primed to continue.

It usually takes longer than a week together though.

It was a busy week and I had a good time. I let all obligations melt away and lived as a hedonist.

For the first time ever I think I’ve experienced memory loss from drinking. And it took a relatively small amount of alcohol. Apparently I now have virtually no tolerance.

Merle left today. I’m now left to my own dangerous devices. Dangerous as in lazy.

I’m not digging this post. I have an abundance of topics I could write on but nothing profound and wise. And that’s what I desire right now.

I feel about as articulate as a caveman tonight. My mental environment is clouded. I’m having a hard time coping now that I lack the clear but hectic path that school provided, paved with hard deadlines. There are now no clear obligations, just overwhelming options. The presence of Merle is a confounding factor. She was almost indifferent on Sunday, the effect of two months apart. Tonight she announced that she doesn’t want to leave. She strokes my ego in unusually satisfying ways. I’ve missed having a woman around. She infuriates me. Maybe I’m too kind and affectionate. She has reattached. We’re doing lots of stuff. I am pure evil.

I’m at work and lacking sound judgment due to a bizarre sleep deprived transitive state. Instead of resting, like my body desperately wanted to, I spent the day cleaning in preparation of Pandora’s arrival.

I continue to marvel at my unholy plants. Guess how many times I’ve watered them this year? Excluding today, three times. Three! And it’s April. April!! These aren’t cacti either. I’m talking about a whole wall of my apartment living room filled with tropical plants of various sizes. So is it normal that they need water only once a month? I’m not even convinced they need it once a month. I just do it because it is so unnerving that I don’t water them and they refuse to wilt or go brown. My apartment doesn’t have a moist jungle atmosphere either. It’s as dry as a bone! Those plants are as tough as nails. Or something else entirely. The big ones are between eight and ten feet tall and are squashed uncomfortably against the ceiling. I was the tallest creature in the apartment two years ago but now the plants dominate.

As a special cleaning bonus, when I went out onto my balcony to shake out some throw rugs I discovered the whole area is a cacophony of pigeon shit. That’ll be an enjoyable little project for an upcoming  sunny day.

Tangents, tangents. Ok. So, there won’t be a breakup this week. Well, there won’t be a planned breakup anyway. The timing is bad. The day on which I finished school is a date Merle has been looking forward to for a long time. To break up with her mere days after my last exam is a cruelty I’m not capable of. And I know it’s not going to be easy. If I try this week, I bet she won’t leave. “Listen to this guy make excuses”, right? Well, fair enough but I don’t think so. A definitive neural network switch has toggled somewhere in my brain. It’s going to happen. It won’t be nice or clean and I want some distance between us before I do it though.

When Merle and I come together after being apart for a couple of months it is like two grinding stones meeting for the first time. We react to the unpleasant ridges that have developed and accumulated while we were apart and there is violent sparking and rubbing as we carve our way into our old familiar volatile groove.

One thing I enjoy about seeing Merle after a long time is that, even though she is fearless and uninhibited in virtually any social situation, she is unable to look at me when I approach. I make her very nervous and she drops her eyes and blushes. It happens when we meet randomly somewhere too…

Anyway, during our last conversation before she left she actually didn’t sound too thrilled about visiting. Intriguing. Maybe it was just the reaction to the loud sigh I let out at the start of the conversation. She did say she was looking forward to the sex though. That’s nothing new. In our six or so years together I can’t recall a single instance where she rebuffed one of my advances. Well, I am looking forward to it too. It’s been a long time. I’ll be going home in a few hours to her. It will be a repeat of a February scene, from which, vivid images still linger. She’ll be there, naked in my freshly washed sheets and super soft blankets. After being alone for two months, it will be, well.. tempting. Maybe she’ll be wearing one of my shirts because she likes when I tell her to take it off. She’ll smell like coconut or strawberry because she knows I love those flavours of body spray much more than any perfume… I’ll take my time but I’ll be selfish. It’s what she wants though. The inevitable culmination is fucking. An activity that will continue throughout the week. She’ll fall in love with me again and suffer a separation anxiety crisis when she leaves. One more iteration through our familiar, cyclic pattern.

I haven’t seen live music in a while. At least I have someone to go with now.

I’m done and utterly exhausted. I knew it would be this way. Empty and phased, not excited and relieved. I couldn’t sleep last night. There may have been a half hour of rest between 4:30 and 5am. The exam I had this afternoon triggered a small panic attack last night when I realized how unprepared I was. So I left my apartment at 5:20am to study on campus until the 2pm exam. Gutting it out with the knowledge that it was the last ever. I think I did alright. Maybe tomorrow I’ll appreciate my final heroic effort.

Merle’s on her way. I don’t even know how I feel about this. Numb. Annoyed. Tired. She’ll want to do all this stuff. whatever. stuff. the stuff is a good movie.

I should clean my lair instead of slouching here despondently. I need groceries and clean clothes too. Bleah.. Got a night shift tonight. I’ll probably return some comments then. I’ve really been pushing my boundaries at work. I’ve been busted by residents listening to Luna. I walk around in my socks, without my blazer, tie loosened like I own the place. I lock people out of the exercise room and watch the cable TV in there. I’m using the sauna tonight for sure. My supervisor knows I do all this too. The residents love me though. I’m untouchable cause I’m everybody’s favorite. How could you not love me. And I’m the only one who deals with the little 4am monsters. I’m watching the Raptors tonight. I’m a pretty big basketball fan and I’m sour the Raptors aren’t going to the playoffs. Tonight they have a chance to spoil New Jersey and Vince Carter’s year so I’ll be pulling for that. It fits my sour mood. Cheering for ruin.