My Demise

I can remember my mother warning me at a very young age about smoking.

"You know, once you start you just can't stop," she said sadly, getting up from the table to pour her 4th cup of coffee that day.

A good cautionary piece of advice for a young pup, but perhaps not specific enough for the literal mind of 6 year old. I understood "can't" in this case to mean "not allowed" and carried along happily. I didn't question the logic of "not being allowed to quit smoking" because like I said, I WAS SIX YEARS OLD.

Later my uncle would go on to quit smoking while I sat at Christmas dinner scared stiff, wondering when the police would arrive to take him away. I may have mentioned before that my mother was worried about my intellectual development as a kid...

I think, though, what stuck with me from that whole misconstrued situation was the understanding that addiction can be like a relentless gravitational pull. Once you start, you just can't stop. I decided crack and smack would have to be ruled out without even a taste.

Even today I'm weary of addiction and yet...well, I need to get something off my chest. In the last 24 hours I've eaten an entire box of Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs. I've already started on box number two and just a moment ago I was tipping it into my open mouth, a mouth that I can't even say was waiting patiently.

I just closed the tabs on the box and I'm already getting the shakes. Please, remember, ONCE YOU START YOU JUST CAN'T STOP.


Let's Be Friends!

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping and a random unmarked van behind my apartment building is blasting hindi music. Hello summer!

I spent this morning worrying and wondering about whether or not I'll have to get emergency teeth surgery. When my dentist said "schedule an appointment to get your wisdom teeth out by the time you're 17" I figured he was being general. Every few weeks I get a skull splitting headache and spend an hour being like "Oh my God, I have an aneurism, what's wrong with me?" until I remember the dentist's face floating in my mind saying SURGERY, SURGERY, SURGERY.

The truth is, folks, the reason I haven't done anything is because the man terrified me. I mean, he didn't scare me, but his frank manner did. He was all, "Oh God, this looks bad," while I sat there telepathically reminding him to use the 'Anxiety Patient Filter'.

And so, this situation will probably have to elevate to a level of pain so intolerable before I will actually take action, most likely in the form of an emergency.

For now, though, I'll return to my normal everyday routine and the crazy man outside my apartment who has been screaming "FUCK YOU TRANSFORMERS" for the past two hours.


I Want One

For the past few days, since I found out that Migers (or as I like to say, simply "tiger mouse") exist I've felt like everything could be improved with their help. Like say you're washing the dishes. Now imagine you're washing the dishes with a tiger mouse on your shoulder!

When I was little my sister and I would pretend to be kittens. We'd make our mom put any food she expected us to eat in bowls and we'd lap it up. She confessed to me as an adult that she had been a little "worried" about me then. But I grew up just fine, ma!

Now all I can think about is this damn tiger mouse because, if I had to depict one, I'm not sure which traits and qualities I should showcase more. The timidity of a mouse? The ferocity of a tiger?

I'm still figuring it all out.

I Live Beside A Tree In A Park

There once was a beautiful painting on display in a condo in Tsawwassen, BC. The artist was unknown but the intention clear: enlighten people.

And yet, as in every well structured fairy tale, a problem must surface. The notorious painting was stolen quietly in the night leaving only an empty space on the wall. There was one solitary hole where a pin had been, and this absence stood for the metaphor in a caring man's heart. He had loved the painting dearly, perhaps even obsessively/bordering on insane, and longed for its return.

He summoned hunters and wise men from all surrounding kingdoms --but it was all to no avail. No word of the painting's whereabouts came forward, and the caring man was forced to write a small note.

"Please return the pony painting, I hold it dear to my heart," he penned.

Walking to the vacant spot that once housed his beloved, the caring man left the note. Perhaps, he thought to himself, perhaps someone will understand my pain and return the painting.

In a few days time something was returned to the man, but it was not the painting. He read the note of reply:

"The pony painting will not be returned. Perhaps the owner has removed it."

The caring man knew better than to believe such filth and lies. The painting had been stolen, and it was now gone forever.


A fair maiden in Montreal decided to take action for the caring man and after enlisting the help of her relaxed and artistic roommate, decided to make another pony painting.

And now, you may be thinking folks, that the maiden was attempting to replace a family pet with a new slobbering puppy, but-- Well, fuck that's what she was trying to do, okay?

Blah blah blah, romance, culmination of events. Behold, the new painting.


She Returns

A shephard came to me in the night, riding a camel and whistling a soft tune.

"You must continue young one, there are words yet to be written."


"It is time."

"What about the old blog?"

"Just put a link."

the old lowercasecarmen