today:

I had a screaming orgasm at 6 am. I quit. I did nothing remotely office-productive the entire workday. I pitched a freelance story to a national women's magazine and it was accepted for the next issue. I finally told that person to fuck off and told someone else again that I love them. I ate a pumpernickle bagel sandwich with tomato and mustard, relaxed, thought about friends, thought about the human condition, planned my weekend, did some laundry, smiled, breathed, laughed, frowned and looked forward for once this year to walking new miles in my own shoes.

trading up

I could bitch until kingdom come, but nothing's going to change solid facts a: I am currently waging an exhaustive battle with myself (or specifically, the part of me that likes to buy pretty things) over money, and b: I am NOT currently the owner of a personal computer.

That's right. Remember the one that crapped out, oh say, back in January? Well it's still crapped because Hewlett effing Packard wants $500 to fix it. No. I know. Yes, I tried that. Can't get the part except through the smug bastards. See how I'm screwed there? So I use this computer at work to illusively check e-mail and read your and your (yes, yours too) thoughts online as my boss stalks covertly behind me, a sneaking blonde live female version of a Wile E. Coyote cartoon (cue: little plucking of violin strings). Or so it feels; I'm sure she's not out to 'catch' me not working. Or is she? I use all the old office tricks to flip the screen and look busy when actually I'm silently pissing myself laughing at some thing or another.

There's not a lot of time left in between the 'Riley, can you do this, Riley, can you do that [standing on your head, while whistling allouette, in three minutes or less]', and the requisite food/bed to write anything that isn't corporate and/or uninspired. Not even freelance work (no spare time). Not even e-mails (sorry).

Well, there's hope, cause thank-god I'm quitting! (Because, like fuck I'd want to be here for when it's my turn for that unsettling weirdness known as the office birthday party.) You knew this was coming. Have I writing anything intelligible or interesting in the past, oh say, half a year? Take THAT Wile E. Coyote!

I'm sure you'll all be happy to know that Q-day is coming sooner rather than later.

Even given my shitty financial situation, I'd rather take my chances in pursuant of big dreams and bigger tickets than sitting here, letting some company sow me with seeds of corporate-conformist thought like I'm their personal garden.

So on that note, anyone know of any um, more fun jobs anywhere in Canada? I will work with children and dogs.

Have heels, will travel.

moment of journalist zen

If any of you, like myself, are concerned at all with Canada's role in international relations and the fuckedupness of Stephen Harper's US ass-licking policies - I urge you to read this, be very very afraid, raise intelligent debate and demand answers. (Journalism isn't dead. It just needs a heaping helping of galvanizing analysis to balance its non-bias.)

"Stephen Harper adheres to the view that foreign policy lacks electoral significance and, for this reason, feels safe following the Bush administration's lead. He made a lousy deal on softwood lumber, allowing U.S. forest companies to keep $1 billion in illegal gains. He agreed to share surveillance information from the Northwest Passage with the Pentagon without receiving recognition of Canada's sovereignty claim in return. He has moved towards participation in missile defence, taken sides in the Israel-Palestine conflict, and failed to protect Afghan detainees from torture. But how many people know this? And how many really care?"