Back in the cold wastes of Alberta.
But the coffee is good, and the money is right. And everything will be good in the world eventually. Yes, as always, an eventuality of goodness. However, everything seems more certain this time out.
Soon the bank account will look stunning, they’ll be a car in the driveway, and I’ll be booking a week to grab everything from my old place on the coast. That, I look forward to.
Except moving. That fucking nightmare will play differently this time. This time I’m going to drive up to my apartment, and only take what fits in the backseat the car; my typewriter, my record collection, some Bukowski books and some other fine literature.
Seems like a good way to snag a clean slate.
I haven’t been posting because I haven’t been writing. The fates haven’t aligned. Maybe that’s why I’m so pissed off all the time. Maybe I’m just drinking too much beer again. Beer seems to make me sluggish.
Beer slows me, whiskey makes me write, and gin is just something that everything else seems gets along with.