Yesterday was a bad day. I was home sick with a hoarking chest cough and sinus headaches when there was a knock on the front door. Mailman. Mailman with a registered letter.

Kids, registered letters usually mean bad news. It was. The dizzy lady who owns the house I rent is coming back from Victoria and needs it back. I wake the roomie (who is sick too) and tell him the bad news. We reminisce a bit about how nice it was to live there but thats about all we can do. The rest of the day is spent yelling inside my head, things I could say to change her mind:

“Crime is up! Turn on the TV and every morning is a new story about someone getting shivved.”

“Toronto in April is so wet.”

“NO! Nonononononnononooooo!!!”

Today, after a sleepless night I struggle to get my ass out of bed and get ready for work. All yesterday I had a creeping feeling that my workstation was being touched by coworkers who had no clue. And behold, one had. Here’s a sample of what I had to clean up:

“I saved those JPGs inside your Documents and Settings folder.”

“Not in My Documents?”

“Nope. Docs and Settings.”

Why he put them into that folder is beyond me, its a frikkin operating system folder. I look. They’re not there. He cant remember where he got them from, nor can he remember where they went. Bloody typical. But that’s not the point of the story.

I am waiting in the -20C weather for a streetcar and the first one that goes by isn’t mine, but has an ad for my brother’s TV show. He’s standing behind the principal cast, his eyes are wide like a deer caught with his hooves in his dad’s porno drawer. It made me smile. I wanted to wave my arms like an idiot and point. I am resolved to steal one off the TTC somehow, or at least get a photo of it for this blog.

It made all of yesterday better. Im wicked proud of him.