What was I gonna do with that time anyway? My job?

I was done with today pretty early. At approximately 8.50am, ten minutes after I’d left home. The first two buses were jammed full with bodies, but I was lucky enough to grab space on the third one. Snugly packed in, I was delivered to a bustling Ossington station. How bustling? Well the entire westbound platform was filled with people, who also trailed all the way up the stairs. Knowing that it’d take roughly 30 minutes to clear through that mass of people, I opted to nope out of there and take a route where I’d be less crammed, fewer armpits in faces or body parts contorted at alarming angles. I went back upstairs to catch the same bus I’d caught down.

Of course that was leaving the station, but another one came past a few minutes later. I got off at Queen to catch the street car across, which then turned onto the much busier King St and moved at a glacial pace for some time. Fine, I thought. I got out at Spadina to catch the waterfront street car all the way to Queen’s Quay. Nope, As soon as the street car arrived at the waterfront, it stopped and ushered everyone off. We had to wait for another street car to pick us up from the same stop. Of course, this wasn’t gonna drop me right at work, so after a short five minute walk I arrived. A mere 80 minutes after leaving home (and 70 minutes after wanting to go home), I arrived at the office, where shit had hit the fan in multiple spectacular ways. Should’ve trusted my instincts.

I need a new job. I really need a new job. Being almost constantly miserable at work is a pretty unsustainable modus operandi. Either I’m walking a short plank towards spontaneous human combustion or swapping my Saucony Excursion TR 8 GTXs for concrete boots and traipsing out into majestic Lake Ontario. My interview on Wednesday got bumped to Friday, so I’m assuming that they a) don’t see me as a serious prospect and b) are doing it out of corporate policy for internal interviews. In either case, I really need to bring my A-Game. Or else I get off the plane in New Zealand, chalk attempts at pursuing a new life up as a failure and live forever in my parents’ garage.

Also, unrelated question. Was my dentist getting too handsy yesterday? Within an hour’s appointment she touched me on the forearm, just above the knee (while reclined, otherwise that’d be obviously peculiar) and lower back. I didn’t think much of it at the time. We were just chatting and I wasn’t really paying attention. Then afterwards I thought to myself wait, is that typical dentist behaviour? I mean, her hands had been in my mouth. My arm is much less intimate than that. In any case, I feel like it was on the boundary of something. Not enough that I felt truly uncomfortable or concerned, but it did seem vaguely odd. Then again, she did help clear up my gingivitis. If that’s not a friend with benefits, I don’t know what is.

In any case, if life wants to be less of a tyre fire any day soon, that’d be grand.


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