Day 147
Okay so I am the kind of sick where snot runs down your throat and dries and cracks the flesh and your ovaries and kidneys ache but you can't decide which hurts more and the only solution to any of this is to be ultra whiny and try to trick your mind into believing that vitamins will make you live forever. Just to clarify I am also (and still) sick in the mind. The I am gonna kick that skinny whore enjoying a delicious cigarette and tromping around in front of me with a pretty boy. But, it's more advanced than that there is also the fat girlness to factor in (this is the ultimate sickness agent) the type of loathing that takes 7 years off your life occurs when you see that that bitch is wearing calf-high boots and they are saggy when you remember damn well the many days in the not to recent past when you pulled on a tall boot in the store and your calf fat got caught in the zipper.
I was feeling only sort of sick this afternoon when I cancelled on my little high school writer brigade fearing first that I would pick up more germs there (Reason #25 why I shouldn't be a high school teacher) and second, I could infect them. Then that slut karma made me full blown ill just when I felt like I was a bad ass playing hooky.
The only place I went besides work (yeah, I know I don't give a damn about customers) was the library. I went in to pick up a specific book when I finally found the correct floor this book was located on I skimmed the spines looking at titles. I pulled out the book I wanted and only one other book. The other book fell open in my hands to a page with papers stuffed inside of it. I pulled out the papers to see that they were tax documents from the Canadian Internal Revenue Service (or whatever they call it up here). I started to just put them back in the book but then realized that the social insurance number along with other personal information was on them. So, I walked down and turned it in to the lady at the desk. She looked at the papers and said, "He used to work here. He just died."
I walked out of the library feeling like I was in the Twilight Zone. What the hell happened here? Is it the cold medicine? Is this a freak coincidence or is this going to happen every time I go to the library? Am I some sort of psychic? Should I have looked this person up? There is a hundred thousand books in there how many of them contain documents people who recently passed on left behind? I feel like I am on some wacky Candid Camera show with a little Tales From the Crypt thrown in but I have yet to spot the camera.
So, at work we got instead of playing bingo with a bunch of homemade pieces of paper bearing numbers in beer pitcher someone found us one of those caged wheels with balls inside. And somehow the fanciness of it ruined bingo (or that's what I blame it on) Plus, we were not as sexual with our comments. It's like we turned into semi-pro bingoaholics now. How do I make bingo fun again? Is it worth going to work when I can't even enjoy myself some nasty bingo? Why am I so shocked that bingo got boring? What a day of annoying questions.
-Canadian Castaway
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