Yes. We’re done.
Tobin has finished school for the year and he’s off to spend the summer at ‘home’ in Cobourg. And we’re done here he and I with the little apartment we’ve been sharing for ten months. It’s a basement apartment in a lovely home on a treelined street in the East End of Toronto. Small, and not really suitable for two people, it was easily the best we could find back in September when we took it.
We survived. And with no TV. Can you imagine?
Tobin’s been enrolled in a TO art high school. As things turned out, English was maybe his best mark. Suddenly, this year, he became, at the age of 17, a reader.
And so when he heads home tomorrow night he’ll not only be taking home some of the art work that survived the school season (he tends to tear up and destroy a LOT of it, which, needless to say, breaks my heart, most of it to my untrained eye quite good) he’ll be taking home a reading habit and some books. My kids continue to surprise me.
As for me, I’ll be moving on and moving in with the Lovely Brainiac. We haven’t quite figured out exactly how I shall refer to her here on the blogs. Not that she’s shy. It’s just that she holds sway in the public eye sometimes and well… my writing can often be somewhat…fill in the blanks.
We’ve decided to take the plunge and move in together. (As will Tobin when he returns to TO in the fall for his final year.) Which is all good as the kids like to say. Awesome!
But there is some bad news that comes along with this. It looks like I will have to take a position. A job.
This is probably the single most depressing thing that has happened to me since Lynette and I split up last summer. If I could I would remain a freelancer doing what I do, but there is simply less and less of what I do around. I’m not alone. In fact there are more and more people doing less and less of that which it is that I do, so you do the math.
Even the idea of a job kills me. It’s not the work. I like work and am inclined to do work and I have been told that I am really quite good at it. It’s the people that you are forced to work with that gets me. The fucking idiots.
Now, there are fucking idiots everywhere, fucking idiots are not to be avoided, cannot be avoided. They’re on the streets, in bars, on the beach, in the cafes. But mostly they are in jobs. In fact, there are probably more fucking idiots employed than there are fucking idiots out of work or freelancing or running their own businesses.
Not only are there a high percentage of fucking idiots in jobs there are are a huge number of assholes. Yes, assholes can often be found running their own businesses. In fact, I could see being an asshole as asset in running a business. But the worst creatures to be found in jobs, worse than the assholes, are the duplicitous cunts. When they smile you just want to smash them in their janus face.
And so what does that make me? When I am in a job.
All of them. It’s not to be helped. It’s implied in the job description.
Oh well. So here I sit avoiding writing a resume, avoiding writing a cover letter, avoiding the inevitable. If I had a gun I would shoot myself in the head.
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