Chapter 18: Probably enough for now

It was a hectic day off and birthday. Hectic, that is, in a good way. I certainly had no shortage of things to do, and yet I wasn't exhausted or overwhelmed.

The weather was quite gorgeous. It sounded like rain early in the day and by the time I stepped out, the ground was wet but the sky was clear. It was warming up and getting humid but a cool breeze refreshed.

This time last year I used to spend a lot of time wandering the streets pondering turning 20. I had invested a lot of time and energy into a teenage persona that wouldn't really wear well on a grown man. I had no job and was insecure about my future after Sheridan, knowing only that I was less interested in being a journalist than I had since starting at Sheridan. This year, I am firmly locked into the U of T chain gang (as Alyssa described it before I started,) and have my gig for the summer. I'm 21 now and I'm not worried or upset.

I spent a lot of the morning keeping track of all the Facebook messages coming in. It's interesting to keep track of who sees your birthday notice and thinks "I should drop him a line." A lot of them were certain but some come as pleasant surprises. Not that I thought I was on bad terms with anyone but some people you get estranged from and they might not consider you birthday notice-worthy. I intend on replying directly to each of them proportionately to the message each left, but probably not until tomorrow.

In the afternoon roybn and I hung out for the first time in several weeks without her wearing a bright orange vest. She had a gift for me, which I told her made her the winner of our friendship, if we were keeping track of points. I don't generally ask for gifts from friends because I am not great about giving people gifts and so I wouldn't expect or request such a thing. So she got me something anyway. It was a mug with a leather sleeve, with organic jelly beans inside. She's remarkable at getting personalized gifts, because everything about that gift pertained to either a piece of conversation we'd had or a personality trait of mine. A few years ago, after the Half-Past Eight PM premiere was over and everyone was gone, I was cleaning up, and discovered a small wrapped box in the kitchen labeled "From Robyn." I suddenly felt very touched but the feeling intensified when I found out what was inside; a Coca-Cola bottle opener. Of course, I was on the tail end of a major buzz at the time so emotions were heightened, but it was such a wonderful feeling.

The house was pretty empty - Eric was off in Toronto meeting someone at the Museum, and Brando... well, he doesn't exert his presence too much anyway.

We played Super Mario World, finishing off a quest we had started months earlier and left incomplete when our hangouts became less regular. The only levels we had left to complete were a few special exits in the Valley of Bowser and the second half of Special world. This took us a couple of hours to complete, with Robyn and I each being stuck on our respective levels for inordinate lengths of time - she later decided it was because I was yelling and getting too excited while she was playing, and it's hard to argue. I didn't realize what I was doing, but she didn't end up beating the level until I took a bathroom break, so there's your proof. Hm.

Once each of these levels were done, and I finished off Bowser (as is my wont,) I fulfilled a request of hers and showed her my room. It's not much... I have a nicely-sized bed, but beyond that it's kind of a storage locker for comics and old papers. Then we got going. Sorta.

I guess the idea was for a quick detour and then for her to go home, but we ended up on a sort of adventure. I had wanted to show her this cool little secret path down to Sixteen Mile Creek and we ended up journeying down into the water for a fair bit before eventually we got back to the main road and we went our separate ways.

I got home and found, per mom's birthday tradition, dinner was mine to figure out at her expense. I decided to go simple and get some wings with a ton of sides, which actually in the end made it a bit more expensive than mom was maybe eager to pay, but that's life. The evening dissolved in front of the TV with a Charleston Chew (and earlier in the day, I had had Whoppers. Big birthday sugar rush.)

So I had a wonderful day today, it was exactly what I need. Thank you very much to everyone who has dropped me a line and everyone who continues to do so... and now I have to face something I don't really want. for the rest of the week I'm going to be stuck in commuter hell. It isn't that I'm back on the bus tomorrow and the rest of the week. Wed-Fri is a three-day job and those are fine. This is what I signed up for and it's my cross to bear. But the prospect of working Sunday is unbearable to me given my intentions for Saturday night. I'd rather work Saturday and just chill out on Sunday, and break up my shifts a little bit, but I'm still a little mad that I got roped into this because it's a training day for the B-crew, or at least one member. Brandon (my co-worker, not brother) is gonna be there too, but I guess I got chosen for Sunday instead of Catherine because she goes to Church. I have to suffer because I'm not (conventionally) religious. Being hung over isn't a good enough excuse. I'm not theoretically supposed to be working Sundays and I'm pissed off about it.

I don't want to make it a thing. I feel like every time something like this comes up I'm immediately spinning some excuse to get out of it. I don't want it to be that way but shit keeps coming up and I've told her that, beyond doing cold-calling on weekends, I am not cool with working weekends. I don't want this job to become my life 6 or 7 days a week. I want to do it Monday to Friday, maybe the cold-calling on weekends, but for two days a week I just want my life to be my own. I feel like a bitch - both in the sense of "whiny bitch" and "prison bitch." Sort of a combo of those.

I guess I'll just have to level with her, raise my concerns, and straighten this all out. The reality is, I'll probably end up working Sunday. I don't want to be seen as the guy who shirks work as often as possible. I think I'm going to have to let this one go and make a stand if it comes up again (it'd better not.)

I just wanna rest. I have to get up early tomorrow... particularly long commute. Hurm.

Suddenly I've gone from really upbeat to very downtrodden in the midst of this post, just because I started thinking about work. Well the painting itself is never that bad, although my work ethic could improve. It's just the transport and schedule.

Sigh, the unseen caveats of the working world. We'll figure it out, sweetie.

Thanks again, for making the day a good one. You're special, all of you.

Keep on rockin'
--Scott