My earliest memory is of my mom holding me in one arm, her other arm holding my brothers hand, while she tells my dad at the door that his eyes are bloodshot, that he's been drinking, and that he should leave. He tries to explain that he just got off a twelve-hour shift, but she doesn't believe him. Now I live with my dad, and I find that all his "anger issues" are completely falsified. He gets no angrier than anyone else I've known. If he shuts his finger in a door, he might slam it, sometimes.

These are funny times, I think. If someone tried to tell me that I'd be hanging at some dude's band practice on a Tuesday after working two jobs for nearly twelve hours straight and then commuting back from Fairfax the next morning 12-degree weather, I would have easily dismissed that as impossible (and perhaps punched him/her in the face). Hell frozen over.... Pigs flying.... And so on. Yet, what did I just do? And what am I not remotely annoyed/ inconvenienced/ disgruntled about? And, in fact, what did I just enjoy wholeheartedly? And when, then, can I do it again?

Trying to get too many things done today. Makes it obvious just how much I don’t do the rest of the time if this is doing too much. Bake a cake. Blow some eggs – literally, wasting water using a venture system and flask to suck the guts out of dyed eggs. Can’t use the eggs ‘cause the dyes are toxic. Like most pretty things: vibrant, deep, rich colours but make you puke you guts out and dye if’n you eat ‘em. This should serve as warning to most people but we keep on falling in love with the pretty ones.