P FLOYD

 

Saw this gentleman, today, with this personalized plate.  I approached him and making small conversation, inquired if he was a fan of Pink Floyd.

"No." he replied, adding that almost everyone he comes in contact with asks him that.

"They're a good band," he said, "I've nothing against them, but no.  I wouldn't call myself a fan."

He glanced down at his license plate and with a heavy sigh, he said, "My name is Peter.  Peter Floyd and I regret ever getting a personalized plate with my name on it, for this very reason.  Everyone asks if I'm a fan of Pink Floyd."

RUSH Weak

RUSH, the Canadian rock group, formed in Toronto in 1968, but not as the trio you see before you, but as three different fellas, altogether.  In fact, Alex Lifeson, pictured to the right, is the only original member.  The original lead singer/bassist, was replaced with Geddy Lee (center), as was the original drummer, replaced with Neal Peart, in 1974.  All facts that a typical super fan would know, but I am not a super fan.  I'm not even a fan.  Often times, if able, when Rush comes on the radio, I immediately change the channel.

I've never met a RUSH fan, but I know they exist.  On TV, when a Rush song comes, up, the actors all clamor and begin playing imaginary air guitars, mirroring the notes played by Lifeson and Lee.  Personally, I can't for the life of me, understand how or why this triad of musicians ever made it to the level of rock star fandom that they have?  Of course, then again, there's no accounting for taste.  After all, look at The Beatles.  Bunch of no-talent hacks who have a special place in the hearts of millions around the planet.  Perhaps, like the case of The Beatles, it's the music itself.  The lyrics, maybe?  Are the words intricate and special, so much that they bring joy and warmth into a captivated audience?

Referring to The Beatles, for a moment, the songs themselves, weren't and aren't terrible, it's just that when The Beatles performed them, they weren't very good.  At least that's what my senses tell me when they come on the radio.  Although when another band performs these Beatle-classics, the songs sound wonderful, fun and good.  I've never heard any bands covering any Rush songs.  I'm sure they exist, but nothing that has ever made it to radio.  Not to my knowledge, at least.  I'm not familiar with their catalogue, so maybe some songs have leaked into mainstream media.

Like nails being drug down a chalkboard, a sound so harsh, it makes most of those around it, recoil and wince.  This is the reaction I get to hearing Geddy Lee's voice screeching out the lyrics to the bands many "classics".  Lee's voice is high pitched and screechy, resembling the sounds emitted when cats fight.  Even many of the fans of the band, have admitted that Geddy Lee has a terrible voice, yet they still love the performances so much.  It blows my mind and I know that if I put too much thought into it, there's a very good chance that I might suffer a brain aneurysm as a result.

I stated before that I never met a fan of Rush, but I am now reminded that I once worked with a fellow who swore up and down that Rush was the greatest band that had ever lived.  We'd work nights and we'd all bring in music to play on the stereo to break up the usual monotonous silence.  The supervisor would bring a plethora of shit that I hated at the time, but grew to enjoy.  I'd bring in my menagerie of shit that would, more often than not, be met with much hatred and Richard (I believe that was his name) would bring in Rush.  Always Rush.  It got to the point, for me, to retain some sanity, I'd sing along to his music, but I'd make up my own lyrics.  This drove Richard insane, but made me laugh.  So much so, that here we are, nearly two decades later and any time I'm unable to avoid listening to the garbage spewing from the mouths of Rush, I still sing along using my own lyrics.  There's one song in particular.  I don't know the song, but I refer to it as the "Brand New Pants" song.  I think the lines go: I'm a new age man. And I've got new pants."

RUSH, the band has had numerous band members come and go throughout the decades and a vast number of albums.  Lee's shrill vocals have always been an detriment and a gift for music lovers.  I hate it, but many adore it.  Again, there's no accounting for taste.  After all, how is it that Fleetwood Mac is the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame?  I think they have one song that doesn't suck.  I'm getting off topic, sorry.

Twenty-four gold records, fourteen platinum and three multi-platinum records to their credit, placing them fifth overall, behind The Beatles, Rolling Stones, KISS, and Aerosmith.  

Alex Lifeson has been praised for his prowess on the guitar and I only grew to be aware of this fella, when he appeared on Trailer Park Boys and played the song "Closer To The Heart". It was a sweet moment in an otherwise, hilarious episode that pitted Bubbles against Ricky in a debate on who the better rock group was.  RUSH or Helix.  Personally, I choose Helix.  They rock!! ✊ "Give me an 'R'.  'O'. 'C'. 'K'...."  Classic!

Drummer, Neal Peart, has been touted as one of music's greatest performers, his drum kits growing larger and larger with each passing year.  He's been voted as one of the top drummers of all time.  He's also garnered much recognition due to his contributions to the lyrics of Rush's music.  Words so unique that they also ruffled a lot of feathers.  While gaining praise on one hand, he was highly criticized, as well, also earning himself a second-place finish in Blender Magazine's "List of the Worst Lyricists in Rock".  I don't know a whole hell of a lot about many things, but I think Blender Magazine pretty much hit the nail on the head with that one.

Not to speak ill-will of the dead.  Peart succumbed to Glioblastoma, a type of brain cancer, in 2020, canceling any thoughts of a band reunion.  With all due respect to the dead, my ears thank you for that.

Like Global Warming, bitching about it now isn't going to fix anything.  There's no reset button that will allow us to go back in time to the point where everything that was good in the world, will revert back to the way it was.  We're always going to have RUSH and Tom Sawyer will always have brand new pants.

Cyclists Be Wary

I nearly ran over a kid on a bicycle with my bus, Friday night.  Scared the living shit right outta me, along with a couple attentive riders.  The kid, unknowingly sped off, never realizing how close he came to becoming a crimson stain on the asphalt.  I joked that my britches were still dry, but in reality, I spent the next ten minutes taking deep breaths to overcome the high level of anxiety I was experiencing from the ordeal.

I would estimate that about ninety percent of those I tell what I do for a living, all repeat the same comment: F*ckin' bike lanes.  While I agree that the bike lanes do impede progress on some streets, even going so far as to reduce public parking for automobiles, they're not the bane of my driving existence.  My peeve are the cyclists who insist on riding in traffic, immersing themselves alongside speeding motorists.

I don't know if it's a bi-law or whatever, but for some reason, a majority of cyclists ride in traffic, which causes more problems than it solves.  While I agree they probably shouldn't ride on public sidewalks in the downtown area, I can't say the same for the arteries leading out of the downtown.  Streets where there isn't congested foot traffic, I don't see a problem with cyclists riding their bikes on sidewalks.  It's safer for them and safer for us motorists.  There's less stress and ultimately less anger and confrontation.  Or at the very least, those who insist on riding their bikes on street surfaces, should find a less traveled route.  Side streets and such.  Areas where they're less likely come up on the losing end of a fight with the bumper of a car and no offense, but you're goofy looking helmet is not going to protect shit, when that happens.

I have no problem with anyone who chooses to ride a bicycle over climbing behind the wheel of a motor car, but at the same time, I have no empathy for the cyclist when they ultimately do meet face-to-face with an automobile.  I'm a firm believer that bicycles belong on the sidewalk, not in the street.

Most modern sidewalks are built quite wide.  Certainly city planners could make them in such a way that both cyclist and pedestrian could share the space.  They already do so in the newer parts of town with the bike/hiking trails and shit.  No reason why the same can't be done elsewhere, too.

I understand that not everyone can afford a car and at the ever fluctuating prices of gas and diesel, even I have thought maybe another form of conveyance would be best, but in the end, I come to my senses and continue to drive.  That aside, for those who do choose to cycle rather than drive, should do so with an ounce of consideration.  Consideration to those who do require the city streets and the limited spaces available do successfully travel and also consideration for their own safety.  Getting hit by a vehicle is no picnic.  I've had fender benders in my youth and it hurts.  Both physically and mentally.  Getting hit by a Buick while riding your Schwinn is far worse, often ending in death.  Is it really worth it?

IF, and that's a big IF, a person is capable of keeping up with traffic speeds, ie. 30km, 40km, 50km or more, then hell yeah!  Welcome to the fast lane, young chap!  However, if you are not able and we (drivers) forced to follow behind your sorry ass, because you're too stubborn or too proud or too ignorant to pull over to allow us to pass, then you're an asshole.  Plain and simple.

I can't count how many times I've been stuck behind some asshole riding his bike down 20th Street in Saskatoon, with three giant bags of recycling slung over his shoulder, meandering back and forth across two lanes, like he's riding his bike down a summer trail next to a babbling brook.  It's infuriating.  You can't pass the dumb son-of-a-bitch, because there's a fairly good chance he may stray in front of you.

I can't say for sure what is worse.  These drunken idiots on their bikes or the assholes who act like they're a passenger vehicle until they have to follow the rules, like stopping at a red light.  That's when they decide that they're no longer a motor vehicle and now they make up their own rules and plunge forth, cutting through a busy intersection.  I would have to take my shoes and socks off to count how many near-miss accidents I've witnessed as these bicycle short wearing motherf*ckers cut through an intersection of cross-traveling motorists.  On Preston and 8th, alone, I've seen nearly a dozen.  Maybe more in the downtown district.

I haven't witnessed anyone getting smoked, yet, but will likely chuckle when I do.  It'd be justified.  If you're gonna act like a dumb piece of shit, don't be surprised when you get rundown like a dumb piece of shit.

Friday night, it was dark.  Real dark.  The time was around eleven o'clock at night.  One of my final runs for FolkFest.  I was traveling east on Taylor Street, waiting at the lights for some pedestrians to cross Arlington Avenue.  My destination was a mere few feet from that point, when it was clear to proceed, I began to make my turn when a darkly dressed kid, meandered around my bus, nearly getting himself squashed in the process.  I sounded my horn, but the kid never flinched.  Just kept riding, quickly disappearing into the darkness.  It scared the bejesus outta me, sending me spiraling quickly into a state of anxiety.  If I would have hit the kid, it'd reflect poorly on me.  They say in training to be intuitive of everyone around you.  Three hundred and sixty degrees around you, you need to be aware of what everyone may or may not do.  For the most part, I can do that.  I can't, however, speculate the actions of a dumb little bastard who appeared out of nowhere.  

If I would have run the little fella down, would I have felt terrible?  Perhaps.  Probably more so for myself than for him.  I can't feel bad for the actions made by a stupid person.  I would have felt horrible for myself.  I'm still under probation for the next few months and I don't want to lose this gig.  It's pretty cool, for the most part.  I like it and it pays well.  A selfish position to be in, perhaps, but it's nevertheless true.

These words that I type, tonight, won't solve anything.  I will get up tomorrow morning and go back to work.  I'll start up my bus and drive my assigned route and will undoubtedly cross paths with another selfish, overindulgent cyclist who believes the street is for his use only and motorists be damned.  Nothing I say in these few paragraphs is going to change any minds.  More than likely, anyone who's spent any time getting to this point in the blog, will likely side with the cyclists and call me an asshole.  Whatever.  This has been therapeutic. 

There was one bicycle rider that I knew once upon a time.  He was a friend of my mom.  They'd grown up together, going to school.  He'd lived in the city, here, almost as long as she has.  His name was Donald and he was a little person.

Donald used to live in the same neighbourhood as my mom and delivered the flyers to her street.  One evening, Donald was riding his bike down the street.  Being a little person, he wasn't able to ride a regular sized bike, opting instead to ride a child-sized bike.  He had been riding along the parking lane of the street, out of the drive lane, but some distracted fella in a pick up truck, ran over Donald on his little bicycle.  Run him over and proceeded to drag the poor guy for several blocks before the inherent sound of scraping and clanging forced the driver to stop and make the grisly discovery.  Donald, obviously, did not survive.

When I first learned of Donald's demise and how it had occurred, I was extremely disturbed.  The thought of what must've been going through Donald's mind in those final moments of his life was quite disturbing to me on a personal level.  It's not something I'd ever want to experience in my own life.  That being said, if Donald had been riding his little bike on the sidewalk, he'd still be alive today.

Cruisin'

Do people in this city still cruise up and down 8th Street?  This is in Saskatoon, of course, and I'm curious if people still, in this day and age, still cruised up and down 8th Street East on Fridays and Saturdays?

Not to put a number on my age or anything, but when I was a teenager, if you didn't find us playing games at Krazy Leo's, you'd likely find us cruising up and down 8th Street.  Back and forth, up and down, maybe taking a break at the (then) Superstore parking lot, to gather and chat with other people wasting their time cruising the stretch of asphalt and rubber.  There were races from traffic light to traffic light and you could be assured that the police were always out in full force, handing out speeding and stunting tickets or busting youth for underage drinking and driving.

At the time, you could still burn a U-turn at the far end of 8th Street, at Arlington Avenue, if I recall, at the intersection where Ruckers Arcade and Taco Bell now sit across from one another.  It was the last legal U-turn at a set of lights, in Canada, if I remember correctly.

For hours upon hours, we'd be out there until the early hours of the AM, when we'd finally head back home or to a friends house, where we'd partake in party favours and alike.  It was fun times.

Nowadays, with gas prices being so high and kids more interested in burying their noses in their phones and devices, do they still head out on Friday and Saturday nights to cruise up and down the boulevard, meeting up with friends?  Kids being as dumb and irresponsible as they are, I could definitely see them wasting mom and dads petrol, just to make a good showing, but do they?

I worked last night and my travels took me across 8th Street at Preston Avenue, quite a few times.  It wasn't until later, when I noticed a lot of classic cars roaming the area, with a culmination of some classics further south on Preston, at the Market Mall parking lot.  Rows of parked classics, lining the parking lot and later collected at the old Superstore parking lot, where we'd park as teens.  Thus striking the query, "Do people still cruise Eighth Street?"

Cars of all makes and models, new and old, streaming the street with their vibrant colours and curvy shapes.  A true spectacle to see, if you're interested in that sort of thing.  It certainly made me wish that I had a classic car to contribute to the scene.  Ultimately making me want to return my beautiful Bella back to her former glory, a goal which I've set for myself for next spring or summer.

Many nights we'd head to 8th Street, as teens.  I was usually stuffed into the backseat of my friend Greg's 1978 Chevy Camaro, windows rolled down, blasting Krokus from the stereo, "Ballroom Blitz" cover, if I'm not mistaken or vintage AC/DC.  I'd be freezing in the backseat, blown by the cool evening breeze as we cruised up and down the half mile or so of road.  It's now a fond memory that recently returned to my brain, so I'm celebrating that fact, too.

I know that there's a Cruise Weekend coming up soon, where most of downtown is shutdown to traffic and where the largest collection of hot rods and show cars come to display their artforms.  I've not attended in years, but wouldn't mind attending, just to see all the cars in their splendor.  It's a culture that I've admired since I was a wee boy, but I know absolutely nothing about mechanics and feel dumb when I see owners displaying their wares for all to see.  So much love and dedication put into each project, just to make them unique.  I admire that.

Is cruising 8th Street still a thing to do?  I don't know, but I wouldn't mind, getting together with a couple friends, once Bella is returned to her former glory, pop that top down and cruise up and down eighth for old times sake.  Relive some of that former glory.  Anyone wanna join me?

My beautiful Bella in all her glory.

Dinks and Dingalings

Anyone can be a ding-a-ling, but only a few are dinks.

When I began my new vocation as a transit operator, I was careful to not miss any stops, looking for people and listening for stop requests.  On my ITS computer, I set it to show the stops, as I don't always know or remember.  As I would approach these stops, I'd whisper to myself, "No dingers; No people." meaning I didn't have to stop.  As the time wore on, I shortened the reference to "No ding-a-lings", which was an affectionate reference to people being silly or a ding-a-ling of sorts.  This week, I changed it again.

Noticing that not all the chimes are the same in the different buses, I noted that while some chimes are of a pleasant and almost playful 'ding', some of the bells possessed more of a "ding-k" sound, which made me laugh.  Now I refer to people as one of two terms.  Either a ding-a-ling or a dink.

Dink is a silly sounding word.  I've heard it in reference to the male genitalia, although when Google'd, if refers to something much more sinister and less silly sounding.  It's of a racial nature that does not need to be repeated in this forum, but if you must quench that thirst for curiosity, feel free to Google it yourself.  To me, however, the word in and of itself is every bit as amusing to say and hear as it is vulgar.  That's where it applies best for my job.

Anyone can be a ding-a-ling, I stated in the opening line of this blog, but not everyone is a dink.  Just the ignorant assholes are dinks.  The people who get on the bus, refusing to pay the reasonable $3 fare.  Those who get on and make some feeble-ass excuse why they won't or can't pay.  Or people who just act like complete assholes when they ride.  Dink. Dink. Dink...  All dinks!!

Then there are those who quietly get on, pay their fare and sit quietly, awaiting their destination.  Those who call out a friendly 'thank you' when they're stepping off the bus.  Those who engage in a friendly 'hello' or chit-chat about the weather.  The friendly folk who barely make a mark on one's day, because they're so pleasant.  I love those ding-a-lings.  Sadly, it's those dinks who stand out.

One particular dink stood out on Monday.  He never paid his fare, but took it upon himself to verbally attack to Muslim women who were seated quietly.  They paid their fare, but he had to give them his opinions of how they were abusing the system, taking advantage of the Canadian government, stealing "our" cash and strongly suggested they go back to their country.  He explained that he didn't appreciate that it was "our tax money" that pays for the buses and that people shouldn't be riding for free.  I guess he didn't sense the irony that he never paid for his ride, nor has he ever (I suspect) paid any taxes.  Pretty tough to pay taxes when you're unemployed, sucking the government's welfare teat and hooked on paint thinner.  [For legal reasons, I should add: Allegedly.]  The guy was a supreme dink.  I kindly asked him not to harass the riders, but he got confrontational and I had to back off to avoid being assaulted or worse.  

That's the world we live in now.  Where good and bad live out in the open.  Good and evil, as it were.  Ding-a-lings and dinks, coexisting and those of us forced to spectate.  Which one are you?  Which one am I?  I pray I'm not a dink, though I may have a dink-ish attitude, sometimes, but I'm trying to be a ding-a-ling.  I truly am.

A Rose By Any Other Name...

A rose by any other name is still an angry drunk homeless woman that has nothing better to do than to ride the bus and angrily assault other passengers and the drivers.

Last week, I reported on my Facebook timeline that I'd picked up an angry homeless woman who then proceeded to nitpick and ridicule me for the following two hours.  She returned again, on Friday, but this time she was accompanied by her daughter, who is equally as angry and drunk as her mother.

Day began by my picking them up on 8th Street.  They were slow to get moving, so another patron boarded the bus ahead of them.  He never pushed them aside or anything.  Just boarded the bus, minding his own business.  This action prompted the daughter to rush onto the bus and verbally shakedown the rider.  Then once seated, the inebriated duo proceeded to verbally assault me, relentlessly.  I laughed it off at first.  For most of the ride downtown, actually.  Admittedly, however, I admit it began to affect me.

I know it shouldn't bother me.  That I shouldn't allow such behavior to affect my attitude, but one can only be a punching bag for so long before the abuse naturally seeps into the cracks.

My father was a terrible alcoholic when I was growing up and what he'd do on some of his benders is toss on some old records then sit me down at the table and he'd tell me what my problems were and how worthless I was, between swigs of his strongly mixed glasses of rye and 7-up.  Many o' weekends were spent at the kitchen table, methodically being broken down to the minstrel sounds of Roger Whittaker and Ray Price, with some Willie peppered in there, for good measure.  To this day, I can't hear Johnny Horton's "Battle of New Orleans" without reminiscing about what a worthless piece of shit I was in the eyes of my drunken father.  It's bittersweet, really.  Good song, with terrible memories.

Nothing can be done about the angry drunk woman, commonly known as "Rose" among all the drivers.  As affected by the abuse as I was, I was relieved to learn that every driver has this negative experience with this woman.  She's been forcefully removed from many buses, by police and other authorities, but she always comes back.  She refuses to pay when she rides the bus, but feels she has the privilege to abuse everyone around her.  No matter who you are, she's gonna be a gunnin' for ya.

With the lifestyle she's been leading, for what I presume has been years, I'm certain she's not long for this world.  One day in the not-too-distant future, I'm sure, I'll be sitting in the drivers lounge, downtown, and will hear some some news about the passing of "Rose".  I predict that some of the drivers will trade anecdotes, fondly remembering how she called them a "worthless cocks*cker" or worse.  We'll all have a laugh and go on about our day, never giving another thought to this woman.

It's sad that a person could possibly live the span of a lifetime and have nothing to show for it, but a few stories showcasing her anger or pissing herself on a city transit bus.  It's pitiful.

Wookin' Pah Nub

Once upon a time, I worked with this girl.  She was a spectacular young woman and I was infatuated with her in so many ways. She'd, quite often, come to work with this huge infectious smile, despite whatever turmoil was going on in her life.  It was mostly boy troubles.  She'd date a guy for a week or two, completely fall for the guy, then before too long, usually a week or two, the guy would dump her.  I'm not sure why, nor did she ever go into detail as to what reasons were given to her for being dumped.  She'd be in the break room, telling of her sorrows, when I'd chime in, "It's because you date boys.  You need a man." I'd say, "You should just marry me.  We'd laugh about the suggestion and carry on with our day.

Eventually, these conversations were met with a different response.  She'd cry about a broken heart, I'd give the generic response of "Blah blah blah, boys. Need a man. Marry me.  Blah blah blah."  To which she would respond with, "Show me a ring."  Then we'd share a laugh.

One day, after I said "Marry me" and she gave me her reply, "Show me a ring." The laughter was more on her end, because the wheels were now turning in my head.  What started as a joke, was now becoming more real to me.  I began thinking to myself, "Why not me?"

Eventually, I was fired from that job, but we remained in contact.  Then on the Facebook, I learned that she had, once again, been dumped by some punk who never realized what an amazing girl he had.  Something popped in my head and I found myself at the mall, in a jewelry shop in front of the engagement rings and wedding bands.

I've never shared this with many people.  Maybe one or two, if memory serves.  I bought an engagement ring that day, along with the matching wedding band.  I fully intended on meeting with this girl, repeating the famous lines, "Dating boys. You need a man. Marry me." and when she was to reply with "Show me a ring." I was going to present her with a white gold band with a princess cut diamond, the exact ring that she'd spoken about for so long when we'd chat it up in the break room.  Unfortunately, she reconciled with the guy who had just broken her heart.  They remained together and I had no choice but to return the rings to the jewelry store and had my money refunded.

I don't know where this gal is, today.  I know she married that fool.  Had a child with him, then they divorced.  She wound up with another dude who had pursued her for a long time, but it wasn't me.  She would eventually leave Facebook and where she is today, I have no clue.  It'd be nice to see her again, but I don't think my feelings for her have remained.

I would have seriously married her.  I really thought the world of her and would never joke about matrimony.  I really, legitimately, cared for her.  In the decade or more, since, I've never really entertained the idea of entering a relationship with another female.  Nothing, in my mind, could ever compare with how I felt about this one individual.

Throughout the years, since, I've only entertained the idea of a relationship with a woman for, arguably, selfish reasons.  If my vehicle was in need of repair, I'd think, "I wish I had a girlfriend who was a mechanic." Then I'd have someone to fix my shit.  Or if I was suffering some aches and pain, I thought, "I wish I had a girlfriend who was a physiotherapist or a physician."  Or sometimes, I'd think, "It'd be cool to have a girlfriend who was also a police officer."  Handcuffs.  I'll leave that to stew in your head. 😁

I never seriously ventured down that road, though.  Romance is a two-way street and as beneficial as it would be to have a relationship with someone, of any profession, I've never considered myself that interesting of a person.  I'm opinionated and, frankly, I think most would probably frown on my world views.  Plus, it's very easy to annoy me.  If I view someone as less intelligent, many times I find myself disinterested in them.  Ignorance, is a deal breaker, as is smoking or just a shitty negative attitude.  More reasons for me to choose the bachelor lifestyle, rather than wrapping myself up in a liaison that could (and probably would) very well end badly.

Recently, I was the victim of a catfish incident.  It was the very first time that (A) my bullshit detector failed and (B) that I'd considered a relationship with a woman.  In the end, I don't know what hurt more.  The fact that this woman, who I'd been communicating with for just short of two weeks, had blatantly lied about who she was, OR that my bullshit detector had failed.  I rely on my intuition to guide me in life.  To protect myself from anything that seems too good to be true.  Every system I have in place, failed to see the bullshit that I was being force-fed.  My usual skepticism was gone and I found myself reconsidering my place in life and thinking of how I might reconfigure in order to accommodate this new relationship.  In the end, my guard rose up and I did some digging, via Google, and learned that this person was full of shit and I called them out on it.

I should have felt victorious, but in reality, I was crushed.  For a short minute, I felt validated.  I felt like I was worthy of such a high level of affection and in the end, I was just a mark that some dummy thought she could manipulate.

Today, just a month or two removed from the catfishing incident, I am alone, once more.  I no longer feel like the worthless piece of shit that I did a few short weeks ago.  I think it may be some close friends who have provided me support in the right way.  Once again, I'm entertaining the idea of seeking out love or romance, but have to overcome some obstacles before proceeding.  Even then, I'm hesitant.  I still don't find myself being overly interesting.  I'm still opinionated, but hopefully, I can meet that special someone, eventually, who I find I can't live without.  Someone who gets my jokes.  Someone who I can share and actual conversation with and not someone who just waits for their turn to talk.  I want someone who completes me, not to sound like that cheesy Tom Cruise movie.  I always loved those scenarios where a couple can spend a comfortable evening together without ever feeling the need to speak a single word, but the feeling in the air is that of eternal bliss.

In the end, if I do choose to venture out into the world and look for a meaningful relationship, finding happiness like that of (literally) everyone around me, I don't care what her vocation is, as long as she has one and it makes her happy.  I want to rid my life of confusion, clutter and negativity, so I don't want to invite someone else's problems into my life.  I do realize, however, that if anyone is out there who has her life in order, like this, that she is likely already in a successful relationship and won't be looking for some schlub who drives a bus.  Unless, I can find a lovely young miss, who also drives a bus. 😂