Traffic Patterns
I've been thinking lately and I've come to the follow two conclusions:
a. I enjoy self-destructive behaviour,
and
b. Alcohol and cigarettes are a great way to gradually and non-chalantly self-destruct.
Ergo, I have abandoned my latest (and possibly greatest) streak of sober living, and have plunged back into the dank pool of excess with appropriate aplomb.
My weekend started off early and with a bang, as several work buddies gathered at the pub on Thursday night for Nicole's going-away party. We all lamented the loss of such a sassy and sardonic cohort, expressing our grief by imbibing in pitchers of beer and Dr. Pepper shots. After several hours, it became quite necessary for us all to return to my house to play some DDR and pass out.
On Saturday, Morgan and I drove up to Shawnigan Lake to attend The Second Annual Bad Bathing Suit Party, hosted by the infamous duo of Jenny and Mike. The weather was unseasonably chilly, so Mike proceeded to stoke the fire and turn the cabin into a hot, sweaty drunkfest from which the only escape was to don our ridiculous swim wear and pose for glamour shots. Most of those shots are now up on facebook, for any and all interested parties. I must say: I was hardly aware that wearing a child's bathing suit and posing for gratuitous crotch shots would attract such a frenzy of activity on my facebook page! Duly noted.
It seems to me that my life is a series of frantic, fleeting moments, bizaare episodes which I attempt to stretch across the sturdy framework of each day. Today, for example, was sort of surreal.
A squirrel with a mangled tail and an obvious death wish darted under my car on the way to Starbucks, prompting Davina and I to shriek like little girls. Thankfully, I managed to swerve and avoid the pitiful creature. Later on, as we were leaving the Starbucks, we saw what was surely the same squirrel, throwing itself under yet another moving vehicle. I wondered how things had gotten so bad for the squirrel. I pitied it while all the while admiring its morbid tenacity.
I thought about the squirrel a lot today, about how its macabre and desparate ritual mirrors the way I have been behaving as of late. I know that I should head in the other direction, but I see in his eyes the promise of relief, the sweetness of oblivion, and I eagerly throw myself into his path once more.
a. I enjoy self-destructive behaviour,
and
b. Alcohol and cigarettes are a great way to gradually and non-chalantly self-destruct.
Ergo, I have abandoned my latest (and possibly greatest) streak of sober living, and have plunged back into the dank pool of excess with appropriate aplomb.
My weekend started off early and with a bang, as several work buddies gathered at the pub on Thursday night for Nicole's going-away party. We all lamented the loss of such a sassy and sardonic cohort, expressing our grief by imbibing in pitchers of beer and Dr. Pepper shots. After several hours, it became quite necessary for us all to return to my house to play some DDR and pass out.
On Saturday, Morgan and I drove up to Shawnigan Lake to attend The Second Annual Bad Bathing Suit Party, hosted by the infamous duo of Jenny and Mike. The weather was unseasonably chilly, so Mike proceeded to stoke the fire and turn the cabin into a hot, sweaty drunkfest from which the only escape was to don our ridiculous swim wear and pose for glamour shots. Most of those shots are now up on facebook, for any and all interested parties. I must say: I was hardly aware that wearing a child's bathing suit and posing for gratuitous crotch shots would attract such a frenzy of activity on my facebook page! Duly noted.
It seems to me that my life is a series of frantic, fleeting moments, bizaare episodes which I attempt to stretch across the sturdy framework of each day. Today, for example, was sort of surreal.
A squirrel with a mangled tail and an obvious death wish darted under my car on the way to Starbucks, prompting Davina and I to shriek like little girls. Thankfully, I managed to swerve and avoid the pitiful creature. Later on, as we were leaving the Starbucks, we saw what was surely the same squirrel, throwing itself under yet another moving vehicle. I wondered how things had gotten so bad for the squirrel. I pitied it while all the while admiring its morbid tenacity.
I thought about the squirrel a lot today, about how its macabre and desparate ritual mirrors the way I have been behaving as of late. I know that I should head in the other direction, but I see in his eyes the promise of relief, the sweetness of oblivion, and I eagerly throw myself into his path once more.