Category: Street Survival

What an awful week I just had. Seems like they're all like that lately, compoundingly so, as every glimmer I see turns to naught, leaves me in a worse off situation, but always managing to fuel some degree of hope beforehand, albeit the fact that any optimism is pretty much being entirely sucked out of me as I morph into full pessimistic cynicism. Slowly. But surely? 

I've that "part 4" and another post on the Iran-Israel situation that should have been posted by now, but I've been having a difficult go at doing anything this week, having had a fever for the past few days due to an imposing abscess—I'm badly in need of oral surgery that I can't afford, this aspect providing one more challenge in terms of interviews and impressions as, along with teeth issues, last December, I fell, and, freakish luck, as plagues me, all my front bottom teeth broke in half, giving me a pretty awful, yokel look. Not something I'd mentioned—ego and all—but just one more thing that's made life increasingly unbearable.

 The infection swelled half my face and made even a light tap on that side some of the worst torture I can imagine, and, of course, my whole condition isn't aided by my bad—and worsening—diet, eating what I can, not what I want or need...

If wondering, that meat didn't do wonders on my gut. That was more meat in one week than I normally eat in two months. 

My "bonus" month is over, and I'm still in the same situation, which means that, by this weekend's end, I'm on the street and officially homeless again...

I'm so fed up. I know I've said it quite a bit recently, but all I do is keep on sinking, no matter what I do or try... 

I'd been contacted by a firm in Bahrain on 4-Apr, and finally decided to contact them back on Friday, 12-Apr. I won't offer more pertinent details at this point, for whether there's something worth telling at all now depends on them.

But I will offer some bits about the reflection that analysing, deciding, and acting on have led me to have.  

One aspect that surprised me: I seem to be willing to accord better intentions to individuals if said individuals are foreigners from certain countries and from certain types of institutions then equal "ranking" non-foreigners from similar, North-American-based or Western institutions. I see one as them offering me potential and opportunity and the other as seeing only a potential opportunity for them in me.  

The last is mostly true if a US firm within any financial/banking sphere. Anything "Wall Street" makes me cringe and recoil. Maybe lash out, too.

But there's no hard-and-fast rule that I'm aware of; instincts and non-tangibles based on personal experience appear to largely account for any variance, which may offer the reverse given a different reason altogether to consider 'which would be the best option'.  

Then there are those I'd never trust or wish to be associated with in any form whatsoever... The Nigerian Princes are among them, but only because they always seem so desperate to leave Nigeria, so, leaning on any "Nigerian" part like they do makes me think they're not serious as Princes; I like my royalty to be dedicated to their kingdom, thank you.

I was also contacted by UAE tech firm about entirely different matters, which I definitely should reply to; I hadn't as I'm always expecting the DMS&UY site to be forced down due to a lack of funds, yet, months later, I'm still here whilst having established that contact and adding my name to their "vendors list" may have helped in rectifying that.

I truly am an odd one. Perhaps far too caught up on correct principles and on good morals, always acting in concordance with my strict personal ethics and within my own moral framework?

If only I'd given more thought to my ethics and morals before becoming so attached to my framework, I'd surely have a more world-friendly and economically-functional take on "killing babies" and about what to do with those dreaded "others"?

As long as it's 'other' people's babies and kids, where's the problem, right?

And if I really were serious about earning my rightful place in the world, I'd scrap fluff-words like "people" and learn how to use "animals" properly instead whenever I'm dealing with such within a pertinent context.

Damn my parents! I blame them for those word choices I invariably seem to make.

Any hoot, related matters provided another instance that reminded me just how impossible it is for me to ever do things the "proper" and "expected" way, for which a "How To" or set template is almost always available. So many times, a voice in my head tells me I shouldn't... just follow the by-the-numbers cookie-cutter approach... But if I did that, then, I'm not being genuine, making "honesty" a secondary feature less desired than "expectations"? That definitely ain't right, leading to false presentation and unwanted representation on my side, and, possibly—and more than likely—on theirs as well.

Here's a post scriptum to my email, a formal business one sent to a person located in Bahrain; I added it because I felt a need to address one aspect, but felt that doing so brought me to a place that just isn't me, which gave me license for absurdity rather than simply avoiding any mention unless/until absolutely necessary: 

P.S. Times being what they are and cause for condemnation quickly found when so desired, I specify the following to avoid potential headaches only, doing so given your location: I’m willing to focus my efforts, but I’m not interested in betraying the West in any manner whatsoever for money; I’m just as equally uninterested in betraying any nation, or any religious, political, or cultural group for money. Except, maybe, that country with weird toenails and pubic-like curls to their hair… what‘s the name of that place?

If it’s on the tip of anyone’s tongue, that may not be a good sign. At all.

Honesty. True impartiality. A genuine attempt to understand. Hatred-free. Better steps leading to a true, lasting peace. These are things I will never betray, unless the amount to do so is so big I can then buy the world and set things right. Maybe get rid of those people who don’t like my music or cooking, while at it. Cursed be those people!

That was the email; the "formal" doc I'd attached offered similar moments...

All these formalities, they're always a firm slap in my face, for they act as a reminder that I seem to operate on a different plane of reality, one that's detached from the set formulisms put in place to gauge one's worth within said formulisms that operate per a set hierarchy, itself defined and dependent on set formulisms. If without them, then how is anyone to judge what's good or bad, right or wrong?

Thinking on that brought me back to my nine-year-old self and a second-grade art project I'd been chosen to create first, so the class would then have a model to go off of; I was almost always selected for such roles when artistic goals and imagination were the focus. One day, I wasn't... I had a mini identity crisis, age 10. 

We'd moved to Toronto from Montreal and, at that point in my story, I couldn't say with any degree of confidence that I spoke English, but neither could I longer claim total ignorance; I "got" the gist, not the details, but this facet doesn't explain my boneheadness, which is the appropriate label, in this case, I feel.

The project: Use your initials to create a colourful patterned overlay on a holder-box for notes that we first had to create.

Here's the thing: I somehow never caught the "your initials" part; I selected my letters based purely on a letter's aesthetics, per the font used to create the stencils from which we were to create our masters. O, Q, and R. The letters had zero meaning to me.

My initials being PL, or PDL for those who know me well, and PDGAJL for those who know me too well... I didn't even manage to hit one! When the teacher, Mr Cody, then used my model to show the rest of the class what to do, none of the kids understood why, then, did I use those letters. It took a few minutes for what people were saying to sink in and what had been meant by "initials", which sounds a lot like the French "initiales", though not so much like "yorreenētials" to a young Québécois with no English.

When it finally sunk in, I felt kinda foolish... pretended those letters had a meaning. Maybe I was making a gift for my mum; how do they know I'm not... so there. Also, in my defense, the teacher had placed much emphasis on "example", and I recall that having an impact on my choice.

For the rest of the year, students had a personalized holder-box that identified them. The one that identified no one was mine...

That reminds me of a speech I did for the annual competition we had, winners going on to the regional and then national competition. I'd discussed video games, mentioning a "pool" game in the speech, but referring to it as "billiards". Except, I didn't know how to pronounce that in English, and used the French pronunciation—it being a French word, after all—which sounds like "B Arr" in French, and nothing like the English "bill yards".

When I was done, a student raised his hand and asked me what "B-R" was. 

"Bee-har", I asked back, "where?" I hadn't a clue what he was referring to, getting caught on B and R without being able to link it to the French "billiard" that sounds like "B Arr".

"Yes, I wondered that, too," said another student. "You mention B-R a lot, and I hadn't a clue what you were saying."

The whole class wondered about that, too...

I finally clued in weeks later, upon hearing someone pronounce "billiards" the proper English way and reacting with "Oh, I thought it was pronounced Bee-harr."   

After a return to biting cold weather followed up by last week's heart-attack causing snow storm—what a slap in the face that was to wake up to—Spring is finally here!(?)

Need to have that question mark. This is Quebec, after all, so, one never knows. Though it's nothing like living in the Rockies, where I enjoyed all four seasons in one day on a few occasions. I remember going to work in the morning in short sleeves one day and making a snowman during lunch; that was in July.

If wondering: As I had eventually learned, quickly adopting the practice myself, the surest way to tell the difference between tourists and locals in a town like Jasper or Banff is by whether or not one has a backpack. Locals always carry warmer clothes with them on a warm day and vice versa on cooler days (except in the dead of winter).

By the way: I wish; everyday lately. I sincerely hope I suddenly and painlessly drop dead from a heart attack. It would resolve so much; make 'life' easy...

My dad had two mild ones and died from a third, but, unlike him, I don't drink (alcohol) and spent a good portion of my life running or on a bike; I easily put over 100,000 KMs on my Cannondale in the last decade and a bit alone, and I used to spend way, way more time on my bike in my twenties. So, heart-attack... I wish. But not with my luck.

Not something I wanna go into depth in in this post, but, despite being hundreds of KMs away, I knew it when he died; I felt it. When the call came, there was zero surprise. I still have a hard time accepting certain facets of his death, but... maybe another time.

Any hoot, today was a gorgeous day, the peak hitting 20°C (68°F). Even nicer than yesterday, and, yes, I did have a chance to enjoy the total eclipse, which lasted roughly 1 min 25 secs for the Montreal area. 

I went for a long walk, bringing a bag with me in case I should come across some empty bottles. It's a habit I had picked up some years ago, as, without looking for them, I'd continually come across a whack of them simply walking to and from wherever I was going; despite not needing the money back then, I averaged a bit over $100 per year simply picking these up and returning them for a refund on the deposit.

During a period when I was making real good money, I'd still pick them up, but I'd them leave then in a bag on the sidewalk in front of my place rather than returning them, so someone who did need the money and made a job of hunting down empties, rifling through people's recycling bins for them, would get a prepared 'bonus' whenever I had a few dollars worth.

I haven't taken on such a 'job' yet, still not finding myself living off of the deposit economy that bottles have created.

A few years ago, when the littering problem caused by water bottles had become an issue that most N.A. cities felt needed to be addressed, I was shocked to see how ignorant most people were regarding this aspect.

Folks living comfortably were entirely convinced that the problem showcased the deep hypocrisy that granola types (in today's parlance: Wokes with an environmental focus) operated under since only water bottles littered the landscape. They couldn't figure out that the lack of deposit gave them no value, hence, no one was picking up those bottles only. Pop and beer drinkers littered just as much if not more so. These days, you'd think only consumers of energy drinks are those who litter. 

Having had a good walk, I made my way back home but, for some reason, was propelled to take an odd route through streets I rarely ever set foot on, having no reason to go there. 

As I turned the corner and decided to cut across a small park nestled between two residential buildings, I spotted a reusable Walmart bag that was sitting on a picnic table in the middle of that small park. The closer I got, the more intrigued and set on discovering its contents I became. 

The firm, rectangular shape that  the bag's content imposed on the flimsy, tissue-like fabric bag, a case of beer or some such case filled with empty bottles is what I had expected to find, but... yet... that didn't seem right.

Nope. Not bottles. Inside was pure gold.

If hungry, that is.

A full loaf of sliced bread—a pricey brand—sat atop close to $40 worth of meat.

My initial thought when I saw that bread was a negative one; I was sure that it had gone bad, sitting out in the open like that, and probably for a few days, ditto for whatever else was underneath it... nope. All of it was still frozen, removed from someone's freezer and placed there no more than 30 minutes to an hour ago.

I looked around; the park was completely empty, so were the sidewalks on either side of the park. I scanned the area and pretended to care whether it had been forgotten there by error, making a show of 'waiting' for someone to show up, but within 30 seconds, and in a pantomime sort of way, I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, snatched the bag, and bolted out of the park.

Instead of my "usual" Basmati rice or flour-and-water pancakes, I had the two Toulousain sausages for dinner (supper for those not raised as snobs) and, so far, I'm still alive. 

Other than breakfast links, which I hate, Toulouse sausages are among my least favourite, real Merguez (lamb) being my faves, though no one would have believed that if watching me chew and swallow that meal. That fat, dripping from the sausages... sooo good.

•       •       •

Last year, though not quite in the same situation I'm in now but tight on cash, I'd gone for a walk and, when I got back to my place, found a ripped shopping bag with a brick of cheese, crabmeat, and some other goodies (don't recall what else).

Two weeks ago, real hungry and having only $3.85, I'd made my way to a store that sold its cans of beans cheaper than all other stores in the area, as what I had allowed me to get two cans, which, I figured, would give me food for two days, having to last three until a bit of money came my way (based on selling my NAD and Rotel amp and pre-amp, if the buyer did come).

On the way back home, crossing a pile of furniture left on the curbside, I noticed a can of Lipton Chicken Noodle soup sitting proudly on top of the pile. I hadn't seen it on the way there, having taken a good look at the pile. It was brand new, and with plenty of rice added to stretch it, provided that third day's meal...

In December, when things officially had taken a turn for the worse for me, I made my way to the same store hoping to get a loaf of bread and some milk, as I still had half a large tin of coffee, which I do love having with a bit of milk and sugar. There was no price on the bread, but I took a gamble, finding myself 15 cents short at the register.

Rather than giving it to me, I was forced to remove one of the two items—some shop owners are like that... what can you do—which didn't really bother me as I knew I could get cheaper bread at the larger grocery store nearby, and 50% cheaper at that if expiring on that day.

However, an Indian fellow who'd come in after me, eyeing me oddly as he zipped to the wine section and quickly picked up a bottle and made his way to cash, told the woman—who owns the shop with her husband (they're Chinese)—that he'd get it. 

"Oh, thank you so much," I said.

The woman seemed confused about how to proceed, waited for the man to give her the 15 cents.

"No, no. Take it all. Take back your $5," he told me, then told the woman to charge him for both my milk and the bread.

"What? Really?" I couldn't help it; I broke out in tears, thanked him profusely. The woman seemed lost; couldn't understand what had happened.

I never quite got why the man did that, though. For all he knew, I was 15 cents short, and that's it. I was wearing an expensive Columbia jacket, had good boots on, leather gloves, a cashmere scarf, clean chinos, etc. I didn't look like someone so badly in need of those 15 cents.

He sure made a difference for me that day. I swelled with emotions, overwhelmed, happy. Tears froze on my cheeks the whole way home.

It takes so little sometimes.

I'm not sure that anyone truly cares, for I've the weirdest bunch of readers, bar none, none of these having the balls to make themselves known or to show direct support despite being steady visitors on the Street?

I so don't get it.

That kind of behaviour... it's simply making me hate everyone. Ever wonder how 'super villains' are born? Well... 

Nonetheless, today, I was lucky enough to sell a folding table I had, which, with some creativity—my bank account, PayPal, and credit cards all being in the red right now—allowed me to 'splurge' on some real basic necessities and to cover the monthly hosting fee, too, though I very much would have preferred spending that money on some food... no one can accuse me of not being dedicated to DMS&UY, this being so no matter how stupid that makes me.

Sigh. 

Well that's it, it seems.

There's something I clearly don't get, for the visitor numbers are steady and encouraging, but what to make of the fact that I'm not even able to raise $7 dollars in order to keep the site alive?

The site will be forced down on Monday, 8-April.

And that's it for me.

It's a hard blow to take, especially when I see all the various and, in my opinion, unwarranted fundraisers out there. A recent one I saw managed to raise several thousands because someone's mother-in-law had passed away. I just needed $7 to keep the site alive for another month... Never mind that I've already lost 12 lbs and that I'm starting to float in all my clothes, and finding it increasingly harder to feed myself with each day.

I've managed to achieve what? I've established no productive or collaborative links, nor garnered any interest that's worth less than $10??? 

I'm tired; see no point in fighting anymore.

I give up. On absolutely everything. I'm through. Done.

DMS&UY needs your help; without your support, the site will be forced down again on 8-Apr-2024.

If you thought back in Decembre that losing the site for “just $300” was pretty bad and a sure sign that I was going through rough times, please consider that, this time, it’s for $7, and I’m in a way, way worse situation.

Until my situation has improved—I remain optimistic—any help with the monthly site hosting fees would be greatly appreciated. So would any support at all, actually. Helping me secure a job is by far what I would prefer, though a one-time or monthly donation would certainly be deeply welcomed and go a long way in helping me feed myself; everyday is now a struggle, even peanut butter now being a luxury I can't afford.

If you're helping with the hosting fees, please make sure to add “prepaid services” in the note box; a receipt indicating that your donation has been applied to the current or future (prepaid account) hosting fees will be sent to you within five business days.

Otherwise, that’s it; as I’d stated in one of the posts, the next time is the last. So, if you’d like to see DMS&UY up and active beyond 8-April, please consider helping out. Thanks.

Two easy ways to do so, either through Buy me a Coffee or PayPal, though note that the option to give a donation through PayPal may be restricted at moment due to yet another issue I'm dealing with... it gets so very expensive to be poor.  

I was in a pawnshop last Thursday, wanting to unload a DVD and blueray player, along with one of the three high-def computer screens I had that fell within the minimum specs they require in order to screw you on the value.

Yeah, I get it… it’s how its goes; business, and all that.

Plus, if things had gone as I’d originally intended, per the initial deadline, that was it, I’d have been gone, the keys on the counter, and selling those at a higher price no longer relevant whatsoever.

However, as I write this, doing so in a world where I sold my other two monitors, left to the one on my laptop (19” and touchscreen, at least), I do regret the $20 I got for the one at the pawnshop, though it’s the same price I ended up selling the other two, anyhow.

The real issue, and a torturous one it is: Going from four screen to one so quickly… I feel so naked and incapacitated.

That. One screen. It’s gotta be the epitome of poverty. Maybe.

I’m not sure about other parts of the world, but I know that new regulations have been continually imposed on pawnshops, the police now tightly linked to many aspects of their business and certain policies have been created to enforce periods wherein goods can’t be resold, abolishing any difference between “loan” or “sale”, and some goods require proof from the police that a verification was done and the good isn’t reported stolen.

And there’s hardly any independent pawnshops left, most belonging to a chain or other. And all are puzzling entities when one considers how these businesses tend to be run and how little effort tends to be placed on the sales and promo end, ditto display and fixtures and thematic or seasonal rotations to attract regular bargain hunters and similar, à la Winners. Also striking are the missed opportunities that ought to readily discernable with the higher ups if a chain—being the Office and Data System's Manager for a 1-800-GOT-JUNK franchise made me aware of several facets behind the 'junk' and recycling business, and of a major overlap that exists that pawnshops don't exploit and absolutely should, which I won't say publicly as I've oft been tempted to pitch it privately, though I'm not sure it's a world I really want to play any meaningful role in. And, no, rerouting goods that were picked up is already something that's exploited at the employee end of 'junk removal' companies ("junk" is a misnomer of sorts in many instances), and not at all what I have in mind.  

It's a special type of business that, generally, attracts a special kind of customer, and I’ve no doubt that this explains why, in many such places, ‘customer service’ is given no consideration and the staff receives no training; you’d swear that some are encouraged to see all their ‘patrons’ as deplorables and/or drug addicts and to serve them with whatever disdain they believe is deserved. 

All the refinements and etiquettes of good service are far from guaranteed, like, simply, acknowledging a customer's presence when they come in, the clerk letting them know that they'll be taken care of when they're free / done with the current customer. Nah. If already busy, the guy behind the counter doesn't even make eye contact or shift gear, no matter how long a line up may form; he takes his sweet ass time, casually researching the lowest price that can serve as the basis for the low percentage offered on goods, or he stands by—if not sitting—and focusses on watching a customer check out something they're considering buying rather than letting that customer do their thing as the clerk performs a quick triage, asking what each person in line wants to then provide immediate help or reassure all of a short delay, squeezing in a straightforward, quick-in-and-out transaction while that other customer is testing that thing... But, sadly, multitasking isn't an expected or necessary skill if a pawnshop clerk, it seems; if it takes 20 mins to casually do a 5 mins job, then don't expect a hello before 21 mins, and only if you're next in line.

Talk about adding insult to injury. I don't know what the percentage is, but there's no doubt in my mind that people with some sort of addiction represent  

In such circumstances, I've found that most people don't care so much about who was next per any "first-come" priority, so long as 'things are moving', and anyone who's behind in line that may get served ahead of them doesn't involve anything that's more demanding or bound to take longer than what their own turn is likely to take.

Interestingly, an event like COVID established that pawnshops provide a vital service for many, which is why they, like grocery, pharmacies, and liquor stores, were, for the most part, considered necessary establishments during lockdowns.

Depending on the situation one is in, it provides a source of quick cash at rates that are a bit better than that of credit cards, and, regardless of the reason, sellers are what make buyers possible, hence, without the need that the service answers, clerks who look down on their clients wouldn't have a job from which to do so, and I fail to see highly-respectable and productive citizens in those who happen to clerk in such 'shops'. Keep in mind that, as in all else, there are exceptions, and it's a subset that, nonetheless, based on what I've seen, is typically well represented within that milieu.

Really upsetting in all of this are those online sellers one eBay, Amazon, or other, who offer a ridiculously low price on an item simply to outrank all, and attract the most, but charge an absurd amount on shipping and handling, making the item no cheaper than the average price several times higher than their bogus 'low, low price'. E.g. The average price for Widget W-X2100 in like-new condition is $40 plus and average of $10 for shipping depending on where one lives, but one or two quirky-looking places sell Widget W-X2100 for $9.96 but charge $48 for shipping. They don't pay $48 for shipping; they pay the $10 and pocket the rest, bypassing higher fees and certain withholding periods on the bulk of the payment that ends up not transacting through the platform, only the $9.96 being submitted to such.

However, for pawnshops, well, there you go, that's what the item is worth, $9.96, justifying the offer of a dollar for an item that, in reality, will cost at least $50 for anyone to have that item, in hand. You point this out, and the reply is: Yeah... but we don't care about shipping; that doesn't concern us. We just look at the price you can buy the item for.

Which earns: OK, but if you want the item, that's not the price you're going to pay; that low price is just a ploy...

And round and round it goes. Don't bother; poor logic almost always accompanies poor customer service.

•       •       •

As I waited my turn last Thursday while at the local pawnshop, a black fellow was pawning a gaming headset and controls, offering all sorts of excuses and reassurances as he kept asserting that he was going to be back as he moaned all kinds of gripes about the cost of living, all whilst also revealing that he spent far too much time playing online and that his girlfriend better not find out that he got money by pawning those things.

He then cursed the times, commenting how the whole economy is tanking and Canada is heading down the crapper before blaming his situation on Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his cabinet's mission to destroy Canada's economy to better control us all. It was high time he stepped down so Pierre Poilièvre could take over.

"Oh, god! Please don't be so ridiculous," I blurted out, unable to contain myself. "It's global; there's more than conservative idiocy and Trudeau clashing in the world."

"Oh, you're one of those; you get all your news from mainstream media, and that's why you can't know what's really happening," he returned. "They lie to you."

What came next, of course, was a mention of the WEF and Klaus Schwab, and leftist liberals being Commies, and Canada now turning into a toilet ever since Trudeau came into power, because, before Trudeau and the Liberals came into power nine years ago, things were pretty good before COVID, food was that expensive not too long ago.

Sigh. A real genius.

What really disturbed me was his level of certainly, which didn't even offer the slimmest opening for anyone to jam some good sense in there and open up a valid discussion. All he could offer was a solid stream of rightwing xenophobia and immigrant-based bigotry wrapped around Culture War talking points he strung together as if doing so conferred a hidden meaning on the whole that brings enlightened people to some truth.

The guy sounded nuts. And just plain ignorant and gullible when he waved away the effects of the ongoing conflicts and of the failed and backfiring sanctions, pointing out how little I understood, for the real problem in Canada, killing farmers as we speak, is Trudeau and his government's obsession with their "carbon thing... carbon pricing... or is it taxing? His carbon taxes, that's it." 

Not only did the guy display the rightwing I've-no-clue-but-I'm-opposed-to-it attitude that's typically seen whenever certain things may demand that all work toward a change, but he then summed it all up in a manner that was to be expected: imposing Wokeness on all to push their global takeover plan is what's at the root of the evil the world now faces... in Ottawa.

"Of course! there's it is!" I snapped. "Woke is the problem; identity issues are why we should have nuked the world tens years ago. You're a brainwashed mess if you think an asinine Culture War is responsible for where we're heading."       

"Ah-ha!," he yelled. "Who said anything about the Culture War? People like you are always looking to go there; I never even mentioned anything about Culture War stuff. Not a thing, so why do you bring it up?"

The clerk, who initially sided with the black man, opened his mouth, mumbled a few words as he realized the stupidity of what the other man was saying, then pressed his lips together and lifted his hands to signal that he was no longer involving himself in the discussion.

The discussion brought us right on the cusp of a really heated screaming match, which neither of us seemed to want to have, as the tension was instantly deflated through curt, conciliatory remarks offered simultaneously, but just to close the matter, and not in any show of acceptance toward the other's position.

On the bright side: Be happy, USA. That one, he's our moron, not yours. So he can't vote for Trump (nor Biden).

Well, these past three days have been some real welcomed ones that have already put me in a better position; I'll be able to take care of of my passport this week, and not have to pay the rush service fee—bureaucracy... ughhh, my nemesis; started minding myself to get it done tomorrow so I'll hopefully take care of it within a comfortable margin before closing-time on Friday.

Selling my solid-oak dresser, a fairly imposing piece of furniture, forced me to clean out seven drawers that reminded me how much stuff I had that I could do without, even if separating myself from much of it made little sense other than to have empty drawers. Perhaps my problem is that I had too much storage?

The place I'm in is a reasonably-sized three-and-a-half apartment, but the kitchen is larger than most and offers way more cabinets and storage than one is used to seeing in a rented apartment. Plus, I 've quite a bit of furniture, which means many drawers. I've gone from having a reasonable-drawer-to-space-ratio being owner of a good-sized place, the problem occurring when I found myself going toward renter of medium-sized, but especially toward a small-but-only-temporary one... this year marking the tenth one I've been here, at the last. So, unless we redefine temporary, it's high time I get out of here, says the dictionary. And my 'soul', which I say just to avoid getting technical. 

What's that? Yes, I agree. But, for my sake, let's just agree that a decade is but temporary. And it is, in a sense, for what is time but a pure abstraction if without lease-renewal dates?.

Actually, ten years is the longest I've lived anywhere, which makes it odd that I've always viewed it as "temporary" in my mind. 

But time does pass by quicker as one grows older, thus allowing older folks the time to approach "temporary" more wisely. 

My parents put my sister and I through four major moves by my early teens, and I added at least two major ones and four minor ones to the list by my mid-twenties, and a few more since. These include Indiana, Brossard, Rosemere, Scarborough, Candiac, Mile-End, Plateau-Mont-Royal, Calgary, and a few more.

Quebec, though, more specifically, Montreal and area, is where I feel at home and willing to call it so, but there's no specific neighbourhood that I identify with in any manner that resembles the small-town romanticism that includes football and marrying one's high-school sweetheart that's often portrayed in Hollywood movies. Instead, there's several places, these like a slice taken from different recipes of the same cake, each one playing a prominent role throughout the specific phase of my life they represent.

What kind of cake? you ask. 

Good question. 

If I had to pick one, I'm not sure what my favourite cake would be. I do know that my ideal one probably includes chocolate, custard, wildberries, mocha, Macadamia nuts and almonds, some nougat, a bit of almond paste, and whip cream.

Well, that certainly managed to make me crave something fit for a pregnant lady. I wonder if I can make basmati rice and peanut butter taste anything like that... it should only be a matter of mixing the correct spices, essences, and food colourings, I'm sure.

I'm off to experiment. I'll let you know; maybe share the recipe...   

As I was prepping my stuff, filtering what I could take with me from all that I'd hoped to be able to take, my back seized up.

Being willing to take whatever amount I could get for anything I'd hoped to sell if leaving it behind was the only other option, I had, as I'd mentioned, sold both my washer and dryer for a mere $40.

I had been curt and clear in my reply to the buyer, who seemed to have misread my ad and added strongly to the insult that such sales entail, but I then let him know that I'd take his offer; I'd email him at 17:00 but allowed myself up to 18:00 for a better offer. And I was very clear that, for $40 for both, I would absolutely not be lending a hand to bring them down.

When the time came, I emailed the guy, who took close to two hours before finally getting back to me. He was waiting to hear back from his brother, he told me, eventually setting the time for 20:15. He emailed me at 20:30, telling me his brother was running late.

At 20:50, when the doorbell finally rang, I had expected the person I had been in communication with, along with his brother. It was just the brother. A beast of man whose muscles and size made me want to make sure I never pissed him off, yet, he ranks up there as one of the kindest and most polite persons I've recently come across; he oozed friendliness.

"Is it just you?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied, apologizing again for being late.

I told him what I had told his brother: No way I'm giving a hand for that price.

He didn't hesitate; no pause, not even a blink, and replied with, "No problem. I'll do it myself."

"What?! No, of course not. I'll give you a hand," I said, slightly miffed.

While I emptied the bookshelves in the passageway in order to clear the way, the man, whose name I can't recall—an issue with me—pulled out the units, disconnecting hoses and all and got them ready; wheeling the first one through the passageway and frontdoor to the first flight of steps is where any sense of "brute" matched his physique. If it doesn't squeeze through, force it!

Nonetheless, all major damage avoided as I gave him a hand, he showed me how to properly place the single strap on my shoulder, looping it under my other one, then under the machine; before we lifted, I asked him, "How the hell were you going to bring them down on your own."

"Oh, I just pick them up once I reach stairs," he said. "It's super dangerous," he grinned, doing so in a manner that betrayed a sense of pride while acknowledging how harebrained it sounded.

A beast of a man, I tell you. Imagine picking up a full-sized washer and dryer and carrying them down two full flights of stairs, one of them being a winding pain. I don't think I can lift either up, never mind move them, and stairs?! They'd be the death of me, squashed under a Kenmore metal box.

Wanting to prove myself at least half the man he was—a feat for most males, I'm sure—I didn't stretch nor grin, just went at it, doing my best to carry my share of the load with a smile.

Once both units were down, the second safely set on the sidewalk, he gave me a friendly hit on the shoulder and kindly said, "You did that like a pro." 

I think he could tell: I hadn't moved anything of that size or weight for a few years at least, even if my own physique betrays that of someone who's always been physically active.

I felt a generalized stiffening in my legs and upper torso before I had reached my apartment, but setting the bookshelves back and setting books back on the shelves is when my lower back let me know it wasn't happy, and let me pay for it.

I continued prepping, but eventually had to lie down. Fell asleep. Hard.

Woke up still stiff but in functioning order a bit after 5:30 and continued with prepping all that I'd need for my journey. At around 7:00, three emails came in from people wanting goods, and two of them were willing to come that morning, 11:45 being the later time. Turned out being worth the wait.

Moneywise. And also because the delay meant that the landlord came by to see how things were going. I'd emailed him a confirmation in the morning that I'd be out by the end of the day, as agreed, as I felt a weirdly deep urge to sleep and couldn't think of doing anything else, and figured I could nap until the buyers came by to pick up the goods, while I hoped the landlord wouldn't feel an urge to do as he did if he knew I hadn't yet officially moved out. However, some work needed to be done at my immediate neighbour's place...

I opened the door wide and told him, flatly, that things weren't going as well as I'd hoped, and apologized for having to leave the apartment as it was, my goods still all over the place. 

He instantly gave me an extra month.

For some reason, I wasn't comfortable with that.

We talked things out a bit. A truly kind man; he breaks the evil landlord stereotype, forces one to consider the side of 'Mom & Pop' landlords separately from that of corporate-minded or based landlords. 

Offering me this break, it seems to have placed me back into the same situation, allowing me to reconsider staying, the delay now letting me count on landscaping work or similar should a more appropriate job not come my way.

There's a comfort to be found in that despite the stress of an externally-determined-resolve set against a deadline that's to be faced, again, all in a gamble driven by a scramble to find any job ASAP, never mind that the reality one comes across isn't what's reflected in the numbers that are worked over to suit what's promoted by liberal media, especially with the threat of a Trump looming in a possible future.

Nevertheless, if I'm to be real honest: If I hadn't sold anything yet, still possessing all the goods that satisfied my habits, brought a sense of security, then I'd surely be doing that: scrambling for any job, relying on landscaping if I needed to just to avoid finding myself in the situation I now face.

But I know full well that that's not going to offer any real solution to the malaise I feel, and will continue to feel if I stay here; I absolutely need a change of setting, and to face anything other than the synthetic challenges that now dominate my life, wanting those that I do face to matter to more than to companies and their quarterly bottom-lines.

Rather, it gives me more time to prepare properly, and to liquidate some goods in a manner that'll get me more reasonable amounts. It's unfortunate that I rushed the sale of some things given the deadline I was working in, having originally hoped for the end of March rather than the 15th, but I'm certainly in no position to complain about that or much else right now.

I'm just grateful. Plus, the timing will allow me to avoid some of the harsh late-winter / early-spring weather.

I told him I'd give him news on a weekly basis, but, with more things to be sold this weekend, per emails received, I'm focusing on that, being increasingly limited in goods needed for basic living (I no longer have a microwave... I relied on it heavily, it turns out), and hope to be on a better track, with a clearer direction, before the end of that month.

So, in essence, not much has changed, but I've been offered a better window in which to prepare and to set off, hopefully being able to focus on reporting.

I took care of a few things and lied down.

I slept for close to 20 hours, occasionally getting up, briefly, feeling a need to go back to sleep before I could even think of making myself a coffee. 

•       •       •

Not to be petty, but The Economist recently commented on Indian news, calling it, in a sense, incompetent and problematic, stating that it tends to be ultra-partisan, nationalistic, and that it displays a striking level of ignorance in regard to world affairs, especially from its globally-oriented news channels, pointing to Palki Sharma of FirstPost directly.

Hey, wadda'ya know? That's exactly what I've been saying for over two years, at least, seeing a disappointing display in very good talent, along with a lack of cohesion. I had called her "naive" though, and in a good way, and not "incompetent". I still believe it to be more appropriate, albeit the over-the-top moments of BJP cheerleading that may, at times, merit the "pom-pom girl" appellation. Much contradiction and hard-to-pin aspects about her, wherein my intrigue lies, perhaps?

However, I'm not sure that The Economist is making such a statement on her and Indian media for quite the same reasons I am... 

To be frank, any eagerness to point it out came about as I was really hoping that one particular Indian online personality would see the value in what I can offer regarding Western views, bringing greater nuance, combined with the fact that she/her team have gotten many storylines and documents off of DMS&UY, which leads me to believe that she could do with a better researcher being a part of her team, perhaps, one that understands Western views real well.

Also, I was heartbroken to find out that she was launching a new channel; nothing would have made me happier than to play a part in that in any way possible. For reasons I'll avoid, I'll nonetheless say that she benefited off of my material and interaction, and I know she's aware of an email I'd sent asking about the application process while she was at WION, to which I got no answer, hence some of her comments, as well as being quick to point to nepotism to explain my situation with my site in December—rather than simply ask me—means she's playing into the same problematic and arrogant media mentality she oft rightly criticizes.

Aren't I being parasocially-deranged, you ask?

No. I really don't think I am. I have lots to offer to establish as much, but I'll just point out that she had mentioned “losing a site for $300” in that segment in which she mentioned nepotism as a reason why anyone with certain smarts could possibly be in certain situations and not earning more, having difficulty paying their rent, let alone “$300 to…” That kind of specificity... I'm not delusional. 

Then, as at other moments, I had felt a sense of understanding delivered alongside comments that made me think that the event may lead to a writing opportunity, but I'm now thinking that pettines and derision were really behind what she expressed.

She's suddenly grown too big, too important, or she's an opportunist, or far too self-centered, or petty, or a mix of all trapped in sexist notions she claims to want to end whilst not believing that such is a possibility. Or it could be none of those, as, I mentioned in that same series on India in which I'd called her geopolitical takes "naive", there's a facet that I don't quite understand and, simply, feels exploitative. And, also, as many have probably figured out by now: I don’t do “fanboy”.

Try if you must, but you'll quickly realize that it's impossible to find even one person who may feel I've harassed them in any way possible, through any platform. And, no, negative opinions voiced in reaction to someone's actions, done on occasion, doesn't qualify as "harassment", no matter how deeply I may have insulted the person concerned. 

Which I'm sure I've done, without quite being aware of it on many occasions... we all have our deficiencies. While I'm being honest: I can also be a big baby at times. But let's save that for another time...

Any which way, I'm quick to see false hopes; I try to extract the lesson that's there to be learned, and move on.

Which is why I do need to move on from where I now find myself. Concretely; physically. And why I'm extremely thankful to suddenly have a few more weeks to better prepare, doing so with an extra bit of certainty that it's the right thing to do. 

Well, here we are.

I’m getting ready to take off into the night, slipping away, leaving pretty much everything behind. A lifetime. Gone.

All kitchen goods, from pots and pans to food processor to professional knives, Corningware, dishes, utensils, and my cappuccino machine... Shirts and shoes and suits, too. Plus my books. And all my personal goods. All my photos. Accumulated knick knacks. Souvenirs from my travels. Gifts from family and friends...  

I'm trying to fool myself into seeing this event as if my place burned down, took everything, and I happened to let my insurance lapse (though I didn't). 

And, so, I leave all behind, armed with only $78.

It's been so very upsetting to find myself negotiating on already ridiculously low prices. For example, I'd hoped to sell my washer and dryer for $50 each or $80 for both, which is a great bargain at that price, as both are in great working order. I ended up selling both for $40. Yet, if I'd wanted to replace them, I'd probably end up spending over $1,000.

Sigh.

I did have real low moments today, suddenly bursting into tears several times throughout the day. I forced myself to snap out of it right away. Not sink into sadness.

But it's hard. So very much.

The only event this brings to mind is the time I was forced to make the call, pulling the plug on my mum's life support. Then, like now, I didn't feel I had choice. It was a matter of acceptance.

That said, while going through everything, I was reminded that I still have her ashes. They're sealed in a special baggie, resting in a rigid cardboard box with her name on it. I still didn't know what to do with them. Leaving them behind doesn't feel right. A person's ashes are far heavier than most would assume, and I've limited space, taking only what I can carry in my backpack... but, as silly as it may sound, I'd hate myself if I didn't take her along, finally releasing her ashes somewhere special I know she'd love. 

I've been piggybacking off of my neighbour's wifi this past week. I don't know when I'll be able to log in again, nevermind posting. The battery on my laptop is kaput, requiring that I plug it in to use it; I was really hoping to make enough from selling my stuff to buy a replacement battery, but alas.

And, as my luck would have it, today I received a whole whack of emails from interested buyers hoping to come by this weekend...

Sigh.

I'm so very fed up. A bit of joy; feeling like I've a purpose.

It's all I ask.