The sense of isolation is overwhelming when going on a new job in literally “Butt Fuck” nowhere. Leaving a town you now call home, to drive several hours to a plot on a map to work for 12 hours a day with a bunch of guys you’ve never met, in fact I wasn’t spoken to for nearly 3 hours after getting aboard the truck.
The feeling of powerlessness is evident as well, especially when the forced air system is constantly blowing out 35 degree air and the bed is as comfortable as laying on hot rocks. There’s no connection to the outside world. The internet was something I had days ago, and phone reception is as come and go as the frequency at which you see bears in winter. There’s a venetian blind in my window that has the whole left side missing, so now my privacy is next to nothing, considering my room is at ground level and near the main entrance to “Zone 3”, which I am a proud occupant of.
The kitchen opens for breakfast about half an hour after we’ve already left and the washrooms constantly smell like an antiquated sewer system in France. There is free shampoo in fact, it says Bvlgari but I’m confident it's a sham, it’s a luxury not soon to be extended this way anytime soon.
Right about now I’m weighing the convenience and functionality of an iPhone against the un-just cost of utilizing such a device. But then again without internet service and zero reception, it’s as useful for interacting with others as writing a message on an etch-a-sketch and sending it via St. Bernard.
On the way here, driving past run down houses that people still inhabit and the junk that has accumulated outside of them it made - and for the most part - always makes me anxious. What if I end up like this, owning a yard with a 1970’s ford truck chassis and tow truck parts all strewn about, that is just as much a part of the landscape as the daffodils that once flourished there in the better times that have passed? What can I do so that I will not end up this way? It just makes me real uneasy about living away from home.
I can hear every move that the person in the room next to me makes. I can hear the sheets pulling across the linen and even when they scratch their head. The bed I am in makes a god awful noise every time I move as does the bed of the person next to me. There is no TV in my room or this place - not even in the “common room” which is so common it bears no particular reason or specialty for it to have its own room. Why would anyone go into that room? It’s a waste of space and energy - just another room to heat.
The place smells of my old Sunday school, you know the smell of heating oil and musty air, a place that had mould and mildew but dried out and got it again and dried out again. A place where it wouldn't be uncommon to find old desiccated mouse skeletons tucked away in long forgotten nooks and crannies. There is a lamp shade above a mirrored cabinet like my grandmother had back in the 80’s, and the cabinet is kind of teasing me because at least below the one in Grandmother’s house there was a sink!
I walked into the room I am in and noticed there is no chair for the desk so now I have to sit on the bed and lean up against the wall - which shifts an inch or so toward my neighbour.
I also noticed a spot on my right sock; upon further inspection I determined it to be black lubricating grease, due to its tell tale smell. Just so happens it’s one of my favourite pairs because of their comfort and that they are anatomically correct, I got them for Christmas last year from Stephanie. I liked the socks so much I hardly wore them and especially not when out to work. Oh well, so much for breaking habits. This is the kind of place where your mind keeps you company and then eventually tortures you, not enough around to distract you from the things you rather not think about.
Alas, my only solace in a place like this will be sleep.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Why do people feel the need to document their lives? I don't mean by way of pictures because that's perfectly normal. I guess I'm talking about what I do, I keep all my movie stubs, and each time I fold it or put it away in my pocket I think of the person that will look at it later in my life or after I've gone. I especially think of this when I store them away in my box of keepsakes, I would keep the stubs for the person I went with as well. I stopped doing this when I realized that most didn't really care when I'd present it to them later. I started again when I found out that my girlfriend at the time was doing it as well and we used to have a box ( in fact the box is probably still there, next to the light on the end table) in which we'd store some of the keepsakes from our years together. It reinforced the whole idea of keeping bits and pieces of your life and the time spent with others.
I keep them so I can always go back when I couldn't remember if I had seen a certain movie, it also helps to put a date to things. In particular when I thought of who would be checking out my keepsakes I would think of my children looking through these stubs and discussing the movies I had seen and make comments about how I loved the movies. At some point I'm gonna have to put all the stubs in one place and maybe at some point I'll stop hoarding things, however, you'll never see me on an episode of Hoarders
But essentially it's a way to document my life.
I keep them so I can always go back when I couldn't remember if I had seen a certain movie, it also helps to put a date to things. In particular when I thought of who would be checking out my keepsakes I would think of my children looking through these stubs and discussing the movies I had seen and make comments about how I loved the movies. At some point I'm gonna have to put all the stubs in one place and maybe at some point I'll stop hoarding things, however, you'll never see me on an episode of Hoarders
But essentially it's a way to document my life.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Thanks Aunt Judy :)
When I found out my Parents were going to a Kenny Rogers concert I was so happy for them I was absolutely beside myself. But when I found out that they had to drive to St. John’s in the night to get there I was terrified, I was terrified they would hit a moose. I was inconsolable I tell you, I had no idea of what a moose was capable of but I had heard stories in my few years that made me very weary of them and sacred for the safety of anyone who had to travel at night.
I begged my parents not to go in the days leading up to the concert. Only now as a grown man do I realize the guilt trip I must have laid on my Parents. They told me it would be OK but never did they once put my mind to ease.
On the day that they left, I was brought to my Grandmother’s where I would stay the night, only I refused to get out of the car - thinking that if I stayed in the car they wouldn’t leave and if they did I would at least die with my family in a car accident caused by a moose.
My uncle had a girlfriend at the time named Judy - who is now his wife, and it was her who came out to the car to talk to me. She explained how it is very unlikely for an accident to occur and that my dad was going to be driving very carefully because of that very reason. What else she said I’m not sure but she eased my mind, and I stopped worrying about their drive in town. It was as though I had been given a drug and as it rushed my bloodstream it dissolved all anxiety and fear of my Parent’s dying that night. One could say I was comfortable with the idea of them driving in. But before that woman came out to the car to speak to me I thought I would never see my parents alive again. It was some years later that she had a daughter of her own and her daughter ended up in a car accident involving a moose. Despite having to be in a back brace and receiving cuts and bruises she came out of it pretty lucky.
On a lighter note in the days after the accident when I visited my Cousin she told me that when the emergency responders cut her out of the car she was covered in moose shit - she even had moose shit in her hair.
I begged my parents not to go in the days leading up to the concert. Only now as a grown man do I realize the guilt trip I must have laid on my Parents. They told me it would be OK but never did they once put my mind to ease.
On the day that they left, I was brought to my Grandmother’s where I would stay the night, only I refused to get out of the car - thinking that if I stayed in the car they wouldn’t leave and if they did I would at least die with my family in a car accident caused by a moose.
My uncle had a girlfriend at the time named Judy - who is now his wife, and it was her who came out to the car to talk to me. She explained how it is very unlikely for an accident to occur and that my dad was going to be driving very carefully because of that very reason. What else she said I’m not sure but she eased my mind, and I stopped worrying about their drive in town. It was as though I had been given a drug and as it rushed my bloodstream it dissolved all anxiety and fear of my Parent’s dying that night. One could say I was comfortable with the idea of them driving in. But before that woman came out to the car to speak to me I thought I would never see my parents alive again. It was some years later that she had a daughter of her own and her daughter ended up in a car accident involving a moose. Despite having to be in a back brace and receiving cuts and bruises she came out of it pretty lucky.
On a lighter note in the days after the accident when I visited my Cousin she told me that when the emergency responders cut her out of the car she was covered in moose shit - she even had moose shit in her hair.
I’m a fuckin nervous wreck, well not really, but I used to be!
I think it all started when I was a kid. Sunday evenings we could go to my Grand Parent’s’ for supper, usually cold plate. I’d only eat a bit of ham and lettuce and fill up on dinner rolls. There was a collapsible stool that my Nan had for many years, green. My brother and I would take turns sitting on it watching TV, my Mother would time us and we’d have to switch up. Anyways it was on these Sunday evenings sitting on that green stool eating the buttered dinner rolls that I would watch the commercials featuring kids and babies over in Africa, dying of starvation, flies crawling over them, stomachs all distended and swollen. I would sit and watch these poor helpless children and cry, cry my little heart out, every fuckin Sunday.
I remember opening cupboards in my Nan’s house and finding leftovers stored in bottom shelf, the distinct smell of jigs dinner permeating from the space below. I remember the metal plate with porcelain finish that the fresh beef was on wrapped in tin foil. You see my Grand Parents were farmers, they raised cattle as well, they once sold milk locally too. The excitement of a brand new baby calf was always something of a treat to go see. I remember the cold of the night and the breath of the cows in the barn and how the sawdust was stuck to the new born. I remember how small its nose was compared to the rest of the cows and in particular how blue it was. I loved that cow as soon as I had seen it. I wondered how it’s Mom was going to be able to take care of it.
I remember riding to my Nan’s one day to get a glass of tang before riding on home that from my Cousin Colleen’s. I poured the glass after Nan took it from the cupboard and she sat down on the chair and faced me. Her voice cracked as she spoke, she said “You mustn’t be a bad boy”, She started to cry right there in front of me, it was the first time I had ever seen my Nan cry, “You have to be good to your mother, your Father is away and she needs your help”. It hit me that my Mom has a Mom and that my Mom expresses her anxieties, doubts, disappointments and hurt to the woman I call Nan. I didn’t know where this was coming from but I was sure that from now on I wasn’t only disappointing my Mother, but I was also hurting my Grandmother. I realized that day, on my slow and confusing ride back to Delaney’s Road that my actions not only affect those directly involved, but as well those around me and my loved ones. I felt a great responsibility that day; Only I didn’t know what responsibility meant at that point. I was responsible for my actions and how they affect others and sometimes the consequences of those actions are far more reaching than I could have ever imagined.
I think it all started when I was a kid. Sunday evenings we could go to my Grand Parent’s’ for supper, usually cold plate. I’d only eat a bit of ham and lettuce and fill up on dinner rolls. There was a collapsible stool that my Nan had for many years, green. My brother and I would take turns sitting on it watching TV, my Mother would time us and we’d have to switch up. Anyways it was on these Sunday evenings sitting on that green stool eating the buttered dinner rolls that I would watch the commercials featuring kids and babies over in Africa, dying of starvation, flies crawling over them, stomachs all distended and swollen. I would sit and watch these poor helpless children and cry, cry my little heart out, every fuckin Sunday.
I remember opening cupboards in my Nan’s house and finding leftovers stored in bottom shelf, the distinct smell of jigs dinner permeating from the space below. I remember the metal plate with porcelain finish that the fresh beef was on wrapped in tin foil. You see my Grand Parents were farmers, they raised cattle as well, they once sold milk locally too. The excitement of a brand new baby calf was always something of a treat to go see. I remember the cold of the night and the breath of the cows in the barn and how the sawdust was stuck to the new born. I remember how small its nose was compared to the rest of the cows and in particular how blue it was. I loved that cow as soon as I had seen it. I wondered how it’s Mom was going to be able to take care of it.
I remember riding to my Nan’s one day to get a glass of tang before riding on home that from my Cousin Colleen’s. I poured the glass after Nan took it from the cupboard and she sat down on the chair and faced me. Her voice cracked as she spoke, she said “You mustn’t be a bad boy”, She started to cry right there in front of me, it was the first time I had ever seen my Nan cry, “You have to be good to your mother, your Father is away and she needs your help”. It hit me that my Mom has a Mom and that my Mom expresses her anxieties, doubts, disappointments and hurt to the woman I call Nan. I didn’t know where this was coming from but I was sure that from now on I wasn’t only disappointing my Mother, but I was also hurting my Grandmother. I realized that day, on my slow and confusing ride back to Delaney’s Road that my actions not only affect those directly involved, but as well those around me and my loved ones. I felt a great responsibility that day; Only I didn’t know what responsibility meant at that point. I was responsible for my actions and how they affect others and sometimes the consequences of those actions are far more reaching than I could have ever imagined.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
UP HERE
Today I bought a year's membership to the gym at the Grande Prairie Regional College. That means I'm back in Grande Prairie as a resident. I'm not home. I'm away from home. I'm not even near the water.
I'm not gonna be playing Soccer in the men's league back home this summer, I won't be playing Ball Hockey with the boys at the CLB Armoury dans la Route de Harvey or going to the Gym at the Aqua Arena and playing squash. No more Tuesdays at O'Reilly's for open mike night. No more Fish and Chip's at the Duke and no more Pints with the boys either. No more auditions for Republic of Doyle or background work here and there. All the fucking things that I enjoyed about my life, and all the possibilities I thought of when that show came to town are now in my past. Not my present.
Is this going to be my life for a while? 15 12 hours shifts in a row followed by 6 days off? 6 days off to do whatever I want - but can't really because I have no where in this God forsaken town to pursue my interests. I could go look for Dinosaur bones like I had always planned when I came out this way, but the rock picks that I bought are back home in Newfoundland a mere 3 feet away from my soccer cleats and guards and my hockey gloves and dress shoes and all the other things that I have left behind.
I left it behind because I would be back to it, back to my life, back to what it is that I am and I do, but now I can't be that person anymore because I have to live up here and work up here and be away from friends and family UP HERE!
However I do plan on playing soccer this summer UP HERE. I guess I'm gonna have to make the best of it and try to attain some semblance of a normal life - UP HERE
But what if I tear a ligament playing soccer and can't work for a month? What will I do then? Will I have to stop doing the things I enjoy and become an old man, put on weight and talk about the days when I used to play sports or I used to have a life and the way things were when I was HOME?
I'm not gonna be playing Soccer in the men's league back home this summer, I won't be playing Ball Hockey with the boys at the CLB Armoury dans la Route de Harvey or going to the Gym at the Aqua Arena and playing squash. No more Tuesdays at O'Reilly's for open mike night. No more Fish and Chip's at the Duke and no more Pints with the boys either. No more auditions for Republic of Doyle or background work here and there. All the fucking things that I enjoyed about my life, and all the possibilities I thought of when that show came to town are now in my past. Not my present.
Is this going to be my life for a while? 15 12 hours shifts in a row followed by 6 days off? 6 days off to do whatever I want - but can't really because I have no where in this God forsaken town to pursue my interests. I could go look for Dinosaur bones like I had always planned when I came out this way, but the rock picks that I bought are back home in Newfoundland a mere 3 feet away from my soccer cleats and guards and my hockey gloves and dress shoes and all the other things that I have left behind.
I left it behind because I would be back to it, back to my life, back to what it is that I am and I do, but now I can't be that person anymore because I have to live up here and work up here and be away from friends and family UP HERE!
However I do plan on playing soccer this summer UP HERE. I guess I'm gonna have to make the best of it and try to attain some semblance of a normal life - UP HERE
But what if I tear a ligament playing soccer and can't work for a month? What will I do then? Will I have to stop doing the things I enjoy and become an old man, put on weight and talk about the days when I used to play sports or I used to have a life and the way things were when I was HOME?
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