Showing posts with label plans. Show all posts
Showing posts with label plans. Show all posts

Friday, February 23, 2018

Tomorrow's Plan, Already Showing Signs of Being All Fucked Up.



Louis Shalako




When I got up this morning, I had a plan. You see, my previous plan had been cancelled.

That was because my brother needed a ride, or rather, two rides. One there, and one back, much later in the day.

It is true that he has done it for me, like when my own car was at the shop for example.

(My previous plan involved a few hours at work, and then going to the Salivation Army food bank in the afternoon. This did not happen.)

And of course he called me at eight o’clock this morning, and then cancelled the plan for the day. He was going to take his car to the high school, and let the auto-shop kids work on it, (for free) but he would have had to pay for parts. He doesn’t have the forty bucks, not this close to ODSP payday. It’s a simple little job, a new thermostat and a radiator flush—good experience for the students, but he simply can’t afford it this close to the end of the month. 

One must assume the vehicle needs it as well, and that he wasn’t doing it just for fun.

Normally, I would be at work at eight a.m. Normally, I would work three or four hours, make a few bucks, and then go and get something to eat…

As it is, I have eaten something twice today. This wasn’t junk food, it was good stuff. Ah, I just had baked salmon, mashed potatoes and microwaved leftover beans. Which I maybe overdid just a bit, as beans really shouldn’t be that crunchy. I can’t recall what I had for lunch, although there were definitely frozen peas and mashed potatoes involved…what in the hell did I eat for lunch, ladies and gentlemen…???

We’d almost have to call in the forensic scientists to go through the garbage, in order to answer that question.

(He had a beef meat-pie, taken out of the fake paper-plastic bowl, and baked in tinfoil, and it all came out in one piece when he flipped it over onto his one and only plate. – ed.)

I guess I fucked around, getting things ready to do taxes. The neighbour came around, she was here for a while. I watched a documentary, can’t even recall what it was. Now I’m watching some crummy old war movie, one I have seen a dozen times before.

Yeah, it’s great, some old war movie. Where Eagles Dare. They’re holed up in a mountain cabin in Bavaria. Major Smith, he goes back to get the code books (which he already has in his pocket), ah, off of some dead body, (this is so he can rendezvous with the Mary Ure character) and then when he transmits, it’s like he’s speaking plain English, in the clear—

No one questions him on this, like “So why did you need the code-books, asshole…???”

Snork.

And yet they’re all highly-trained operatives.

My plan for tomorrow involves going to work, nice and early in the morning. Oh, yeah—remind me not to answer the phone anytime soon.

Let’s hope my fucking car works, let’s hope that right rear tire holds air, let’s hope I don’t crash and burn somewhere along the way, let us hope we don’t get hit by a meteorite, let’s hope we don’t go stark, raving mad, or go dashing about town perpetrating a slew of low-level, sexual misdemeanors.

Because that would just be wrong, ladies and gentlemen.

I hate like hell to waste my time.

Interestingly, my Smashwords royalties came in only one day—I just clicked on that Paypal notification, yesterday, the day they came out. Sometimes the unexpected is a good thing.

If nothing else, I get to eat again on another day.


END


Oh, goodness gracious, look at all these books and stories by Louis Shalako.


Image. Hunter S. Thomspon, gonzo journalist. Public domain.

 
Thank you for reading.







Thursday, February 22, 2018

Well, There Goes the Plan for Tomorrow. Louis Shalako.



Louis Shalako




This time of winter, the anger lurks very close to the surface. There's still a bit of winter left, and the first half of spring isn't all that nice either.

#winter

I was planning to go to work tomorrow morning, (that's because I desperately need the money) and then make it to the Salivation Army food bank in the afternoon. (That's because I don't have any fucking food in the house, and ODSP payday isn't until next week.) 

Unfortunately, my brother wants to drop his car off at the high school auto class so that they can work on it. (For free, right.) And he will need a ride home, and then a ride back later. My car acted up yesterday, but it worked well enough today. This is no guarantee for tomorrow. 

As I mentioned in a recent blog post, I have my own fucking priorities.

I go to work in the morning. I go to work in the morning, not the afternoon, not the fucking evening, not in the middle of the fucking night. That’s so that I can get done, get paid, and get the fuck to the nearest God-damned grocery store, and yes, the smoke-shack, and yes, maybe even the liquor store, or, sometimes, maybe even just a good, old-fashioned, God-damned fucking food bank.

Hey, maybe I just want to go to the dentist sometimes. Right…???

The Salivation Army food bank is open four days a week here in Sarnia, Ontario, from one o’clock to three o’clock in the afternoon. I guess maybe that’s what I was thinking—I could go to work in the morning and then go there in the afternoon.

Having gone to the dentist’s office this morning to get a cavity filled, only to discover that the tooth was cracked lengthwise, and had to be extracted, I've had nothing to eat but soup today. 

He ain't exactly the world's greatest communicator. An even worse listener—

And now, if you don't mind, I will proceed to punch THE UNIVERSE right in the mouth, however symbolically.

#fuck

I had money a few days ago, (that’s because I worked), and while at Walmart, I noticed Swanson frozen dinners on for $1.77. Right next to that, they had Stouffer’s frozen entrees on for the same price. I asked the lady at the checkout if that was right, and scanning them, it seems that it was. I bought four of them, for $7.08.

I’ve been sort of rationing them out, mostly because I don’t always feel up to making some big, set-piece dinner. One measly fucking Salisbury steak dinner, 345-grams, will be the only solid food I get today. Yes, I know exactly how lucky I am to have that—after all, I’m the one who has to arrange all of these little secular miracles. Just to illustrate, I’m a grown man of 58 years of age, six-foot-five-and-three-quarters, and I weigh about 206 lbs.—a bit on the skinny side for my height, maybe, but after twenty-two years on the Ontario Disability Support Program, what in the hell else would you expect.

That’s the funny thing about plans, ladies and gentlemen. No matter how good, or even how simple it might be, there’s always somebody out there all ready and waiting to fuck it up for you.


END


Fuck. Anyways, I have some books and stories available from Kobo. Have a look if you like, there’s always something there for free.

Click the author’s name, and you’ll see quite a number of titles.

Images. Top: NASA, the UNIVERSE, about to get a symbolic punch in the mouth. Bottom. Self-explanatory, pic by Louis.


Thank you for reading my fucking shitty little rants.