Work

Had a performance evaluation today. "I have no negative feedback for you," the lady said, "punctuality, compitence, professionalism and grooming are all good." No surprises there. I walk on water and talk with God. Too bad that that doesn't keep my room or my desk clean.

I got transfered to another department though. Anywhere the feds need me, since I'm only working there until September. This job's more interesting though. People who are overexcited that they've actually reached a real person phone me speaking a strange technical language that I don't understand and then I try to transfer them to someone who knows what they're talking about.

Exciting, I know. I hope that eventually with enough education I'll be able to get a job that is actually interesting. Until then, I can do worse than the government.

I went with my father to an anti drug and alcohol awareness thing with my dad today because my mother was unavailable and he's unable to do these things by himself. We saw a play about addiction written and performed by some students that he's apparently booked for the grade 9's at his school. The acting was reasonably good for their age, though the information itself was nothing I hadn't heard before.

The more and more I think about addiction, the more I see it as an essentially selfish thing. Now, before people jump on me for saying that, yes, I am aware that somewhere between 50-60% of the addicts in the infamous Vancouver downtown east side are people that the government dumped out of mental institutions with no intention of treating or caring for them after that. If these people had recieved the right treatment for their illnesses, they would not be there.

However, a few things come to mind. You could never invite Ashley to a party without making sure that Steve came with her. As a general rule, at some point in the night she would take some sort of cocktail of unidentifyable pills or drink way too much, go into some sort of convulsions on the floor or fits of vomiting and then pass out.

It sounds awful, but we always made sure that Steve was there because for some reason or other, he would always sit beside her and make sure that she was alright. And all I could ever think of is how awful it was that she'd consistently ruin his night. I can't remember how many times she did that before he'd finally had enough.

The other thing that comes to mind is how mine own maternal grandfather, old weird Harold fucked over his family again and again for the sake of impressing some drinking buddies, only to have them years later climb over his cold dead body to steal from his apartment before calling an ambulance three days after he died.

Nicotene dripping down the walls and a perfectly made bed.