Quiet Life

Since my tenure with my last roommate(s) went from, "We aren't going to kick you out, we know what hell your mother's house is" to "As long as you're trying," to "We'll help you move," to "Be out by yesterday," I've landed, of course, in my mother's house.

I'd like to make the claim that after my sister giving birth (to the child her ex-fiance ran out on her as soon as he found out about it) and my homecoming after such a long time that we were all happy to see each other and have been bonding in the normal ways that families are expected and encouraged to. I won't make that claim, however, because as always it is false.

Honestly, I haven't done shit to take care of the noob-orn. I'm not obligated to and haven't been asked to, but of course I'm a softy and I feel like I'm being an asshole by not volunteering. Volunteering, however, is something I know better than to do. Despite all the time I put into helping I know that whatever I did would just be criticized and unappreciated, and that they'd abuse the invitation by dumping more than a fair share onto me. There'd be virtue in accepting that and doing it anyway, but there's probably some virtue I have yet to see in playing StarCraft instead.

Mostly, though, I just want my sister to get her head out of her ass and grow the fuck up. I can still afford to be a childish, immature asshole. She, however, sacrificed that luxury and if she isn't forced to face up to that now, she's never going to. Of course my mother babies her because it's her precious princess. I just want to say get your tit out of her mouth and make her be an adult for the first time in her life.

What can I really say, though, my grandmother treats me the same way. If not for her I'd still be working the drive-thru at Steak N Shake counting down the pennies until I could afford to go to school. And if not for my mother's fear of bad publicity, I wouldn't have a roof over my head right now.

I've been busting my ass for what, eight months now to get school all lined out and get a new apartment lined up. Although I am much closer to the final step, it's a long way to Tipperary. I can't submit my application to the new school until next month, but was already very assured it would be accepted. The school will then run from August through December, meaning I have plenty of time to work until it starts. I've found some more prospects on housing, but most of the places are dives. Hell, to be honest, I drove around that town for a solid four hours one day trying to find the "nice part" and it just plain doesn't have one. The whole place is a pile of shit.

But it is, of course, temporary. Once I'm done with my schooling at the end of this year, I'll be able to apply for acceptance as a bonafide rookie, complete with the ability to be underpaid by agencies all over the place.

Since I don't really spend much luxury money I'm hoping I can save quickly. Ultimately, I need enough to secure housing and finances in Canada, as well as the patience to work random crappy jobs as I get recertified there in accordance with the Canadian laws.

One step at a time, though. I once said that in their focus on the one missing piece of the puzzle, people tend to miss out on the bigger picture. In my eagerness, I've all too often missed out on the missing steps while focusing on the bigger picture.

As far as the steps go, the path I've laid before myself doesn't really extend past Canada. What will I do once I'm finally there working a stable job and have my citizenry under the belt?

Absolutely nothing. I'll live and die a Canadian. My walk will be over Canadian soil, and my last breath will be Canadian air. After I have accomplished the course of events toward which I have set my entire life in motion, I fully intend to do absolutely nothing else.

Somehow, though, my plans never unfold the way I intend for them. The Quiet Life has never been too awefully fond of me, and I suspect that it never will be. I'll find out when I get there.

Because get there I shall.